Assassin's Creed: Transcendence
by DelayedInspiration
Summary: Kronos amasses enough power early on to send an infant Percy back in time. Finding this development unsuitable, the Fates interfere, and only the soul of Perseus is sent back, while his body remains in the present occupied by a fake soul. Now, what is Percy doing in the past as he works his way back to the present? Eradicating the Templar Order, of course.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

 _ **Ladies and Gentlemen, this humble author who has had his fair share of ups and downs during this amazing writing career, would like to welcome you to the beginning of my newest fanfiction:**_

 **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence**

 _ **Now, I want to make it clear that Percy will not**_ _ **be**_ _ **our favorite/unfavorite Assassins (meaning he won't be Altaїr, Ezio, Edward, Connor, Shay, Arno, or the Frye twins), but he will be closely related. This is also subject to change because I can never decide on what to do when presented with so many options.**_

 _ **Now, on to the show…**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _Assassin's Creed_ and all its characters, plots, and other affiliates are property of Ubisoft, while PJO is property of Rick Riordan

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 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

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 _August 18, 1993_

 _New York hospital_

 _Maternity ward_

Dr. Elliot Timone walked gracefully into the maternity ward of the hospital. Amongst all of the sleeping infants present, there was only one that Dr. Timone was interested in. Walking down the paths created by the rows of either occupied or unoccupied cribs.

Jackson…

Jackson…

Jackson…

Why were there so many Jacksons…?

Ah! Perseus Jackson. Timone's blue eyes bled into a sickly gold, and a crack emitting golden light appeared on the good doctor's sternum, shining through his shirt of lab coat. Elliot grimaced as he realized that his time grew ever shorter.

Even with the amount of power Kronos had managed to scrape together, his time possessing a mortal host was limited, as evidenced by more, smaller cracks appearing upon the body of this meat-bag host. Acting quickly, Kronos scooped his future enemy into his arms.

Titan of Time could see the future; go figure.

Damn those Fates, and their divine rules. If not for them, Kronos would've simply crushed the infant in his hands and would've been done with this, or at the very least, used a scalpel and rendered young Perseus' head from his shoulders. As it was, the Titan could not directly kill the demigod or bring harm to him. So throwing him off a building wouldn't work either.

However, there were loopholes that could be exploited.

The golden-eyed Elliot stood in front of the blackest, most unlit corner of the maternity ward. Staring intently into the void, cracks of golden light appeared on the concrete surface, before huge chunks were torn clean off and sucked into a whirling vortex of golden energy. Strangely, this portal into somewhere back in time made no sound, but even if it did, it was nothing a little Mist couldn't fix.

Elliot's body was covered in golden cracks by now. Kronos' mighty spirit was beginning to heavily take its toll, and using so much power as to open a time-hole all the way back to the Jurassic Era was cause for great body deterioration. Elliot's time grew short, but Perseus' would be even shorter. While Kronos could not harm the boy, nature was more than ready to bring an end to the infant's life.

So many millions of years ago, the Primordials still reigned supreme. No Titan had been born yet, as well as no mortal man. Perseus' power was so finite at the moment, not even Gaea would register his existence before a hungry dinosaur came and devoured the little morsel.

Elliot stared down at the silent babe in his hands. "Good bye, future enemy. Though you may have brought me great pain in the future, now you are a nonfactor in my plans. Still, I am not so cruel as to prolong the suffering of family. May your death be swift and painless, grandson."

With that, Kronos casually tossed Perseus Jackson into the portal. The vortex vanished, and the wall repaired itself. The power of the Titan of Time ended Dr. Elliot Timone's life in a soft flash of energy, his body and clothes dissolving into little particles that faded away into nothing. None of the infants were affected. As for Kronos himself, the father of Zeus' essence returned to Tartarus, and would lay dormant and unaware of all for many years.

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 _Unknown_

The three Fates shared a collective sigh as the sleeping child of prophecy hovered in between the three of them. While this was hardly the most strenuous dimension they had had to manage in recent times, it was by no means an easy one. Granted, this Perseus would be infinitely more manageable than his counterparts, specifically select others.

Still, what to do from now was quite the mystery. Divine law prevented them from simply returning the babe to his crib in the maternity ward, because a life-altering event had occurred. A fitting analogy would be that a doorway had been opened and stepped through, and then that same door had been shut and barricaded with titanium from the other side.

This Perseus wasn't exactly special like so many others, lacking in any form of energy or power beyond demigod Essence, and it wasn't like they could convene with a Shinto deity and have the boy given some form of power and left to alter the destiny of some anime world.

Hmmm. What should be done with this situation, pondered the Fates.

Clotho suddenly had a lightbulb moment. "I believe the dimension this Perseus hails from has seen heavy influences from Abstergo Industries?" Her sisters instantly caught on to her idea, but there were kinks that still needed ironing.

"But if the body _and_ the soul are sent back—"

"—then death will bring him to the Underworld—"

"—and so many things will go wrong—"

"—then a solution is needed—"

"—yes, but what—"

"—what about only the soul—"

"—excellent idea—"

"—but the body—"

"—left to stay here—"

"—fill in the gap—"

"—but without a soul—"

"—it will not function, of course—"

"—a fake soul then, to power the body—"

"—yes, a fake soul and the real body in the present—"

"—with the real soul and a fake body in the past—"

"—in the past to glide through the eras—"

"—yes, a blade in the crowd—"

"—a wraith in history—"

"—a face in the crowd—"

"—a cycle of reincarnation—"

"—reincarnated until the present is reached—"

"—and when the present is reached—"

"—the soul and the body will be reunited," all three Fates finished as one.

Their plan now made, the daughters of Ananke set about their work. Their fingers moved nimbly as they separated Perseus' soul from his body, kept his body functioning, made a fake soul, a hollow soul, and implanted it into the tiny body of the child of prophecy. Perseus squirmed as his new soul entered him, and the Fates tensed, thinking they had made a divine mistake, and something had gone wrong.

His diaper was turning yellow.

The divinities deadpanned as one. Putting this little spectacle into the backs of their memories, the Fates opened two different portals. One showed the maternity ward, or more specifically, Perseus' empty crib, while the other portal revealed a candle-lit tent, with a woman frozen in childbirth, a look of pain on her sweat-drenched face. With that, the Fates gently placed the body into the crib (which didn't break any divine laws, seeing as this body was occupied with merely a place-holder soul, and not the real thing), and put the demigod's soul into the pregnant woman's womb, and into the child within.

The half-divine soul, as morbid as it was, devoured the mortal soul of the unborn baby, asserting its existential dominance over the body.

With looks of grim finality on their faces, the Fates closed both of the portals, and sat back with those same grim looks. It would take over 800 years for Perseus' soul to return to the present, and all the sisters could do was make sure that the demigod properly returned to the present, safe and intact.

Well, as intact as an Assassin's soul could be after eight centuries of murder.

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 _January 3, 1167_

 _Masyaf Castle_

Umar Ibn-La'Ahad, the Muslim Master Assassin and devoted spouse of Maud Ibn-La'Ahad, the Christian Assassin, tightly held onto his wife's hand as she gave birth to their second child. Altaїr, their first-born son, was being cared for elsewhere in the castle. The lad would be three in a few days.

Umar winced, both at the sudden pressure on his hand via his birthing wife's iron grip, and at the pain in his ears at the volume of her scream as she gave a final push. Finally, the wet nurse held their second child, a boy, the woman said, but there was a problem.

Their son wasn't crying.

"Hand him here," Umar intoned silently. The nurse did as instructed, handing the babe to his father. Umar stared at his son, not bothered by his nakedness or the sheen of fresh blood that coated him. The Assassin did see something that brought great relief to him, however. Umar saw the steady rise and fall of his newborn son's tiny chest. He was merely sleeping.

Then the weak arm of Maud clutched Umar's robes.

The Master Assassin looked at her, and his blood froze. Her face was drawn and her eyes gaunt. Her skin was ashen, and her hair was more of a mess than ever. She looked weak, very weak, and her breathing was barely there. There was an abnormal amount of blood pooling around her, soaking into the bedding.

Umar was at her side in an instant, their son held tightly in his hand.

"Give him to me," Maud weakly whispered. Umar gently handed their son over to her. The Christian woman, in her final moments on this earth, gazed at her baby with an intensity of love only a mother could produce. Maud brought her son to her face, and gently kissed his little forehead. In his sleep, the infant smiled. "Faris...my little horseman...I want you to know that I love you...and I always will…"

Maud weakly beckoned to Umar, and the Master Assassin was at her side. "Yes, my love?" he asked shakily, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Umar...promise me...promise me you'll be there for our sons…"

"I promise."

"Promise me you'll raise them right...by the Lord…"

"I promise."

"Promise me...promise me you'll tell them that no matter what...they are loved…"

"I p-promise," Umar's voice broke.

Maud managed a weak smile. "Thank you, my love...I'll be waiting for you...in Paradise…"

Maud Ibn-La'Ahad fell limp in her husband's arms.

Faris Ibn-La'Ahad began to cry.

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Altaїr stared at his infant brother with a gaze only a three-year-old could manage. It was one of trepidation, hesitance, curiosity, and uncertainty. It was the look of bewilderment upon coming into contact with an unknown, and subsequently failing to dissect it into understandable terms.

Faris, for his part, stared up at his big brother with wide eyes of amazement, before gurgling happily and raising his pudgy little arms up to be held. Altaїr's expression didn't change, but he did flinch back slightly at the infant's sudden actions.

"Go on, son," Umar said gently, "pick him up."

With great reluctance, the toddler did as instructed, and slowly reached out for his brother. Faris' face, which had begun to fall and become a border-line sniffle at the lack of attention, picked right back up in a toothless grin as he was lifted out of one set of arms and into another. Altaїr made a face.

Being a newborn, Faris couldn't have possibly known what that face meant, but he did set about running his pudgy hands over the not-so-much pudgy face. Altaїr squirmed as he was literally felt up by his brother. Umar, for the first time since his wife's death, allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face.

As Altaїr looked at Faris out of the corner of his eye, his head angled back so as to avoid his brother's overly-inquisitive finger, only one thought passed through the three-year-old's developing mind. _'You're the reason Mother is gone.'_

This thought would define the brothers' relationship for years to come.

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 _June 23, 1173_

 _Faris' age: 6_

 _Altaїr's age: 9_

"Wait, Altaїr!"

The Assassin-in-training scowled as his little brother's voice reached him. Over six years had passed since the siblings' first meeting, and their relationship had not gotten any better. Altaїr kept Faris at arm's length, and used any excuse possible to escape from his presence. The boy still blamed the six-year-old for the death of their mother, _and_ the reason why their father always seemed to be on a mission.

Still, despite the snickers from his friends, Altaїr stopped, and allowed Faris to catch up to him. The younger boy came to stand by his older brother, and, despite the intensity of his frantic sprint, was barely winded. Faris smiled brightly at Altaїr. "Can I play too?"

Altaїr ignored the quiet snickers from his friends behind him, and instead focused on staring down at his little brother from the bridge of his nose, like he was no more than an insect scurrying in front of his boot. Now being able to recognize facial expressions and emotions on a better level than when he was an infant, Faris knew of the contempt that was directed at him, but he ignored it in favor of trying to get close to his elder sibling.

"No, you cannot."

Faris' smile lessened by a fraction, but the hopeful spark never left his eyes. "Please? I promise I won't be a burden."

Altaїr was about to deliver a much more forceful rebuttal, but Abbas Sofian piped up from behind. "Come now, Altaїr. It won't hurt to let Faris join us in our game today."

Faris beamed. Altaїr scowled.

"What _game_ were we going to play, anyway?"

Abbas smiled. "Climbing."

Altaїr was no longer scowling.

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As trainees, Altaїr and his friends were being instructed in the arts of climbing and running across structures with ease, and to leap from building to building, scaffold to scaffold, and beam to beam, without fear or hesitation. As such, it was encouraged by the Masters for the trainees to practice and hone their skills whenever the opportunity presented itself, which typically led to the denizens of Masyaf Fortress to bearing witness to young children performing stunts across the villagescape.

Being a child of six, Faris had yet to be introduced to such arts, and was therefore extremely nervous about what was about to happen, but her buried his trepidation, and put on a brave mask, so as not to embarrass his big brother in front of his friends. Even as young as he was, the boy understood the concepts of pride and ego.

"Follow us," Abbas said warmly, "and don't worry if you can't do it yet. You're still young, after all."

Whether that was a barb or a cushion Faris did not know, but he decided to think positive.

The chosen course was a simple one, just a stair-step series of boxes that led to a couple of beams, and then onto a rooftop, and the course would go from there. Jamal went first, then Umar, then Abbas, and finally Altaïr. Each boy was able to leap from spot to spot with almost what appeared to be ease, but each of them were panting slightly, except for Altaïr. He was just silently staring down at Faris.

The six-year-old swallowed heavily. He could do this, he could. Although, the tunic that billowed about his legs might prove to be...not good. Faris readied himself, ignored the exchanging of coins from the older boys, and took off as fast as his little legs could carry him. He reached the first box, leapt on it, then leapt onto the next, and then leapt on top of the final box. Now it was just the beams and onto the roof.

Steeling himself, Faris jumped. There was a terrifying moment of weightlessness, the absent feeling of solid ground. Then the boy was impacting the beam...via his stomach. His little muscles hadn't been powerful enough to propel him with enough force to reach the top of the beam. Still, Faris refused to let go, and hauled himself up with all the strength he could manage.

He must've attracted quite a lot of attention by now.

Looking up, Jamal and Umar were openly snickering, Abbas hadn't lost his warm smile, and Altaïr continued to stare silently at him, his eyes hard and cold. Faris took it as a challenge to do better and make his brother proud of him.

Precariously balancing on top of the beam, just a few feet off the ground, Faris stood, his arms out wide to steady himself his. Eyes darting from where he stood to the beam, the boy tried to formulate plans in case he made it, and in case he didn't make it. Finally, confident in his ideas, Faris leapt.

Those feelings of weightlessness and fear returned, but this time, the boy _made it_. Feelings of elation and pride coursed through him, making him warm, making him smile. Faris stood...and he wobbled. His dark eyes widened as balance left him, and he fell backwards. His arms rose in a desperate attempt to grab onto something, but there was nothing there to grab.

But there was Altaïr! He was up there! Faris locked eyes mid-fall with his brother, sending a desperate plea for aid. Altaïr remained motionless, and continued to silently stare at his falling sibling. Even amongst the horrified visages of Jamal and Umar, the wide-eyed look of Abbas, Altaïr's countenance never once changed in the event of the potential death of Faris.

And so the boy fell, the uncaring visage of his older brother burned into his memory.

Even though it couldn't have been more than eight feet, to a six-year-old child, it might as well have been a fall from the highest point of Masyaf Castle. Faris crashed down hard, luckily just landing on his back instead of his head, therefore the only real damage was the locking of the diaphragm, causing Faris to begin choking on nothing as his lungs refused to contract to draw in the precious oxygen that the body needed for all functions.

As Faris' mind drowned in panic as his vision darkened from his inability to draw in breath, there was one thought that prevailed over these primal feelings of fear over the encroaching Reaper: Altaïr's face. The uncaring visage, the cold gleam, the silent watch. It hurt; more than the fall, more than his brain undergoing a feeling of constriction; it wasn't his big brother's lack of action that pained Faris so, it was the fact that his big brother _chose_ not to act that was the source of this agony.

Faris was suddenly hauled to his feet, and air returned to him. Looking at the one that had set him on his feet, the son of Umar stuttered, "M-Mentor…"

"Go. Return to your studies. I will handle this from here," the black-robed Al Mualim commanded.

"Please...don't punish them too bad," Faris said quietly.

The boy retreated into the gathered crowd, and silently made his way back to the castle.

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 _August 18, 1176_

 _Faris' age: 9_

 _Altaїr's age: 12_

Weeks ago, the Saracen forces under the command of Salāḥ ad-Dīn laid siege to Masyaf. The Assassin held strong during this time, stronger than what the Muslim warrior would have thought possible, but all things come to an end eventually, something Al Mualim understood greatly. So, he dispatched a spy among the Saracen ranks, a spy by the name of Ahmad Sofian, father of Abbas Sofian.

Sofian was good, and after a day of espionage, he located Salāḥ ad-Dīn's command tent. Upon receiving this news, the Mentor dispatched his top Assassin, Umar Ibn-La'Ahad. The father of two was unhappy with the assignment, given his sons' rocky relationship (Altaїr wanted nothing more than to be rid of his brother, and Faris wanted nothing more than to be close to his brother), but he stuffed his displeasure deep into the recesses of his mind, and slid into the shadows of the night.

He almost made it.

It had been easy for Umar to slip into the camp, wind his way through the vast expanse of the tents, avoid the guards at every turn and juncture, sneak into Salāḥ ad-Dīn's tent, and leave the warning stabbed into the man's desk. However, while it had not yet been discovered, Murphy's Law still applied to the late 12th century. Salāḥ ad-Dīn walked in on Umar just as the man was leaving.

Years of training took over, and the Master Assassin fled swiftly from the Saracen camp. The only hiccup was the nobleman—most likely the father of a soldier—who had decided it was a good idea to stand in the way of a fleeing Assassin. While the tenants of the Creed strictly prohibited the taking of innocent life, the Creed also prohibited the compromisation of the Brotherhood…which Umar had technically failed with flying colors, seeing as he was running for his life in a camp full of angry Muslims.

As such, Umar Ibn-La'Ahad made short work of the nobleman, and escaped with his life.

Things would not end in happiness. The spy Ahmad was caught, interrogated, tortured, and gave in to his weakness by giving the Saracens the name of the one responsible for the nobleman's death. The next day, the uncle of Salāḥ ad-Dīn, Shihab Al'din came to gates of Masyaf Castle, to open negotiations.

It seemed that the Saracen leader had taken the Assassin's warning to heart, and had departed elsewhere, but Umar's killing of the nobleman was not without consequence. While the Muslim army was willing to end their siege of Masyaf, they would only do it if they were to leave with the head of the father of Altaїr and Faris.

Al Mualim protested this, both the accusation and the stipulation, but when the battered form of Ahmad was brought forth, Umar had words with the Mentor…words of great sadness, but words of even greater honor, and duty, and sacrifice.

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"You are very brave to do this…may Allah have mercy on your soul," The Saracen executioner said quietly to Umar.

The Assassin just nodded stiffly. He was weaponless and clad only in his robes. His hood was down, revealing a face that looked much like his sons', only a great deal older and an even greater deal more serious. His hands were bound behind his back—a useless dark formality. There was no point in trying to escape. To do so would bring about great pain and hardship for the Brotherhood…and his sons.

As a father, that was something Umar would not allow.

And so he did not fight as he was gently pushed to his knees, and made to rest his neck across the wooden block.

Beheading; a swift and painless death.

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Altaїr pushed his way up onto the ramparts of the gate of Masyaf, and pushed his way through the crowd so that he could see what was going on. Father hadn't been there this morning to oversee his and Faris' training, and that concerned the eleven-year-old. Deeply. It wasn't like Father to miss morning training—oh my God.

"Father!"

Umar raised his head, and even from this distance, Altaїr could see his father's eyes widen.

"Father!"

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"Your son?" asked the executioner.

"Y-Yes."

"By Allah…this…this is…do you have any words for him?"

"I do."

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Faris, following quickly behind his brother, made his way to Altaїr's side. "Brother…what's going—"

"Altaїr! You'll need to look after your brother for me, understood? You're the man of the house now, my son." Umar smiled, unshed tears brimming in his eyes. "I love you, Altaїr, and tell Faris that I love him too."

Faris, panicked and quickly becoming distressed, desperately tugged on his brother's sleeve. "Altaїr! What's happening? Altaїr!"

But the boy wasn't listening. He was numb, and in great shock. He was…he was…he was _what_? And he had to…Faris…but why _him_? Why did he have to look after that little nuisance? Why was this happening? What was happening? O Lord, _why was this happening!?_

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"I was tasked with taking the head of an Assassin, but I am forced to take a father away from his children…Allah, please forgive me," the executioner almost sounded like he was weeping.

Umar smiled at his firstborn, unaware that his second born was hidden behind the stone rising of the rampart. In his final moments, the Master Assassin thought of his wife.

' _Maud…I'll be there soon.'_

Umar heard the grunt of one lifting a blade, then the tell-tale whistling of metal through the air, and then everything erupted in a beautiful white.

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 _That evening_

In the late Umar Ibn-La-Ahad's chambers, Altaїr sat numbly at the foot of the bed. His brother clung tightly to him, sobbing silently into the front of his robe, but the eleven-year-old paid this no heed as his mind was solely focused on what he had heard and witnessed that morning. His mother, taken from him by his own sibling, and now his father, taken from him by a stranger, but not before handing down the responsibility of caring for Faris.

On that thought, Altaїr's glazed, lifeless eyes traveled down to the unwelcome attachment to his torso. And he silently sneered. Tears…tears were for the weak. Tears were for those who could not bear pain. Tears were for useless little brothers who spent more time crying like a little girl, than working to better themselves so that they might bring peace to the land via the absolute power of the Creed.

The door creaked loudly as it opened, and Altaїr was once more stunned into an unthinking state as Ahmad Sofian entered Umar's chambers. Faris, upon hearing the sound of the door, raised up from his brother's chest and wiped his eyes. Even at the tender age of nine, Faris understood what had happened today, and, like his brother, freely blamed the man before him for the death of their father.

But something was wrong.

Ahmad was crying. His battered face was marred with tears, and what could be seen of his eyes was red and bloodshot. He walked with trembling steps, but he did not seem injured. Clutched in the man's hand was a knife, which put the brothers on an extremely sharp edge.

Ahmad fell to his knees, weeping. "I am s-sorry. I am s-so s-s-sorry. Had I not been so w-weak, your father would b-b-be here now. This…" his voice broke, "this is my repentance."

Ahmad stood to his feet…and slit his own throat.

Altaїr and Faris stared with wide eyes as the man collapsed like a puppet without its strings. A pool of crimson quickly spread from Ahmad's corpse, staining the rug. The boys continued to just stare at the body, completely stunned and shocked over what they just witnessed.

By the time the body began to cool, Altaїr's synapses finally began to fire once more. For the first time in what must have been ever, the older brother did something _gently_ with his younger brother, as in he _gently_ lifted him off his chest.

"Stay here," he said to the still-shocked Faris, "I'll go…I'll go get Al Mualim."

And so Altaїr left, leaving his little brother to keep Ahmad Sofian company. When the firstborn left, Faris whimpered at the sudden perceived loss of contact between himself and his source of comfort.

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 _August 26, 1176_

While one couldn't call Faris excited, or even happy for that matter, there was a certain air of…lighter emotion about him. His father had recently been decapitated in front of him, and then the man that had been arguably responsible for said decapitation had come in the middle of the night and slit his throat right in front of him…and then Faris' brother had up and left him alone with the corpse for several hours.

Que traumatized nine-year-old.

Of course, no one knew such details aside for Al Mualim and Altaїr, but on orders of the Mentor, the story of Ahmad's final moments were to be kept secret for all time. The lie was that Sofian had run away in the night into a self-imposed exile for reasons. Abbas had taken it about as best as one could expect for one hearing that their father had just left them for some vague purpose, but at least he hadn't developed a grudge against Altaїr and Faris over it.

Back to the present, the reason for the younger brother's…positive feeling was that today he would get to watch his big brother and Abbas train together in the art of the sword.

In the middle of the castle courtyard, the wooden practice ring stood proud and bold. Assassins milled about aimlessly, chatting idly with one another. Even Al Mualim was present, although the majority of his attention seemed to be focused on talking to the Masters around him. There were a few that paid attention to the upcoming spar between Altaїr and Abbas.

Faris' eyes narrowed when he saw the dark light in Sofian's eyes, and his dread grew when the older boy asked to use real swords as opposed to the wooden practice ones. Was Faris the only one picking up on the wrong feeling in the air right now? Apparently so, because no one else thought it strange that two novices were being allowed to use real blades.

Altaїr and Abbas stood apart, swords brandished. Labib, the current training overseer, gave the order to begin, and all Hell broke loose as Abbas charged, screaming and yelling in absolute fury, accusing Altaїr of lying about his father's suicide. Faris became anxious, dancing on the balls of his feet as Abbas' assault continued unabated. The second-born's anxiety grew when Abbas landed a cut on Altaїr, and knocked him to the ground.

Faris whined in distress as Abbas began to ferociously punch his brother in the face, and no one seemed to have noticed yet, despite the massive amount of commotion going on in the practice ring. Labib didn't seem interested in stopping the fight either. Abbas continued to wail on Altaїr's face, no one seemed to notice it, and Faris had enough.

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Abbas' anger consumed him, but he was not so singularly focused on Altaїr's face to not hear the rapid pitter-patter of approaching feet. However, he looked up too late, and when he did look up, he did so just in time to see the shoulder ram into his face.

Abbas hit the ground, his nose broken, but it didn't stop there.

Now it was his turn to have his face broken in.

Faris did not have the greatest relationship with his brother, no, but despite the uncountable number of times Altaїr had not been there for him, Faris refused to give up on his brother, and he refused to stand by and watch as his brother was beat almost to death. Still, there was only so much the eight-year-old with barely any training could do against the twelve-year-old with a few years under his belt.

Abbas threw Faris off him with a grunt.

The last Sofian bolted to his feet, his anger now directed at the youngest Son of None. Once more, Abbas' sole focus on a singular thing cost him, as he completely missed Altaїr's fist meeting his cheek. Abbas stumbled, the blow dazing him, and a miracle happened.

Faris was next to his brother, and the two launched a brutal assault against their mutual attacker. They worked in perfect tandem, their strikes flowing like water, yet hard as rock. One would grab, and the other would hit; one would push, the other would lash out; one would pull, the other would punch. By now, the full courtyard was watching, their attention glued to the beat down before them, and they were stunned. Even Al Mualim was finding it difficult to discover the will to act.

The dislike Altaїr had for Faris was one of the most well-known secrets in the Brotherhood, so to see them doing something together, and doing it _well_ together (seriously, it was as if they were linked mind-to-mind), was astonishing.

The brothers knocked the barely conscious Abbas back, sending him tumbling into the wooden railing lining the practice ring. His eyes were rolling about in his head, and his head was lolling from side to side. The signs of a mild concussion. The brothers looked at each other, a silent message going between their eyes, before they nodded in tandem. They both rushed forward, their arms cocked back.

They got to Abbas and landed a dual uppercut straight to the jaw that lifted the boy out of the ring, and out of consciousness.

Al Mualim finally found his voice. "Boys! Library! _Now!_ "

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It was as if an invisible barrier had been broken, a nonexistent ice shattered. Whatever had held Altaїr back from loving Faris was no longer there. Now the brothers seemed inseparable, and Al Mualim had the decency to put the two in the same class, seeing as how Faris had made it a rather bad habit to skip his own classes to be with Altaїr.

At first, there had been concerns with the teachers that Faris was biting off far more than he could chew by skipping three years of learning. That was not the case, however, as Faris picked up on everything that Altaїr did, just as fast, if not faster, and with an equal amount of skill. It was unnatural.

What was also unnatural was the brothers' bodies. Their stamina was something out of a myth, being able to run great distances at top speed for long periods of time, being able to fight off their entire class and come out with barely a sweat, being able to shrug off what most would consider to be debilitating wounds—and then those same wounds were seemingly healed moments later, and being able to climb almost anything without issue.

Years past, and Altaїr and Faris became nothing short of prodigious in their studies of the deadly arts. Their skills with the blade were second to few, with only Masters and a small handful of lower ranking Assassins able to match them; their skills with the short sword were just as superb. The siblings also had a way with throwing knives, and they made it a competition between the two of them to see who could throw the most, and the most accurately; this practice often led to dummies being riddles with holes and lacerations, with the straw spilling out like water from a waterfall.

Faris had also begun to devote his time to a personal project of his. When asked by Altaїr what it was supposed to be, all the budding teen would respond with was: a bow, but smaller; a lot smaller. The Elder sibling gave up trying to figure out what it was after the first drawings were complete. He may have finally come to his love his little brother, but he was still far from understanding how Faris' mind work.

Now, tonight, an important event was to take place. A ceremony held in the upmost regard by all members of the Brotherhood, held in even higher regard than the promotion to Master ranking, and even higher still in regards to the receiving of the title of Mentor. The ceremony that is held in the highest regard is one of honor, sacrifice, and the upmost devotion to the Assassin Brotherhood:

The removal of the ring finger.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _January 1, 1182_

 _Faris' age: 14_

 _Altaїr's age: 17_

The chamber was dark, the only light coming from a fire gathered in the middle of the room in a brazier that provided enough illumination to reveal the entirety of the chamber in a painting of flickering reds and oranges. The entire Brotherhood, those that were above the rank of Novice at the very least, had gathered, all wearing cloaks that hid their bodies, with hoods that were bigger than what was necessary.

Before the brazier was a stone table, a high one, one that had been intricately and meticulously carved with several scenes and moments from the Bible. The Crucifixion; the stone rolled over from the entrance to the tomb; Daniel in the lion's den; the Fiery Furnace; Haman hanging from his own noose; the Judgement of Solomon; Samson pulling down the pillars; and Jesus carrying his cross.

This was the stone stable in which an Assassin sacrificed in the name of their Brothers, in the name of their Order, and in the name of their Lord. Twas a ritual that showed the commitment of the Assassin, their willingness for the cause, and their devotion to the Creed.

Al Mualim stood on the side of the table facing the fire. In front of him, Altaїr and Faris stood, both looking nearly the same, and both with identical looks of steel on their faces. Clasped behind the Mentor's back was the sharpest, most revered knife in the whole of the Brotherhood.

"Laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine. The wisdom of our Creed is revealed through these words," Al Mualim spoke clearly. "Altaїr…Faris…both of you have shown exceptional talents in our ways, and have displayed a devotion to the Creed few your age possess. As such, it is only fitting that the both of you become a member of the Brotherhood as one. Hold out your hands."

Altaїr brandished his left arm, his ring finger extended.

Faris brandished _both_ of his arms, _both_ of his ring fingers extended.

Beneath the cloaks, many pairs of eyes widened at this development. Altaїr said nothing, for he knew that his brother wanted to do this. Al Mualim said nothing, for he was old and wise, and had come to expect many things about the two before him. _This_ , while not surprising, was most definitely out of the ordinary. And the Mentor loved it.

Al Mualim raised the Knife. "We work in the dark, to serve the light. We are Assassins."

In a soft streak of gold, the Knife glided through flesh and bone as seamlessly as though through air. The brothers did not flinch. They did not grimace. The did not cry out. They did not hiss. Nor did they so much as twitch. The stumps of their fingers glowed dully for a brief moment, before fading and revealing nothing but curved skin. The Mentor looked proud, but in the shadows, it was hard to tell. He swiped his hand over the stone table, and the severed fingers vanished.

"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember…"

Quoth the Brotherhood, "Nothing is true."

"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember…"

Quoth the Brotherhood, "Everything is permitted."

The fire in the brazier went out, bathing the chamber in darkness. Soon, the silvery light of the full moon directly overhead shined down into the chamber via a hole in the roof. Revealed upon the stone table were three leather bracers with five metal plates across the top, and what could only be described as a small sheath on the bottom.

The brother donned their Hidden Blades, and, with a distinct SNIKT, extended the blades. Death came swiftly through the space where their ring fingers once were. Altaїr smiled at his younger brother, and Faris smiled right back.

"Let's go for a run!"

And so raced the brothers into the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They gracefully climbed the battlements, scaled the towers, bounded from beam to beam with practiced ease, and there was no fear to be held in their bodies. Not anymore. Such a fear had been trained out of them. Now what they did was mere routine, just another part of your average day, no more odd or nerve-racking than breathing or eating.

Soon enough, Altaїr and Faris reached a point where the only way to go was up, and the only destination was the very top of Masyaf Castle. So they climbed, swiftly, easily, effortlessly. From beam to beam, ledge to ledge, and over the stone barricades at the tops of the walls. Finally, they made it to the final stretch before they reached the top of Masyaf.

Altaїr went first, scaling the wall till he could grab the outcropping, then he leapt sideways to the beam. From there, he scaled up the wall, leapt out and grabbed the outcropping, before hauling himself to the top. The firstborn looked down at his brother with a smile. "Well? Come on, then."

Faris smiled, and repeated the same moves as his brother, but there was something dangerously different about his ascent. On the final outcropping before the roof, the stone came loose when Faris grabbed it, and he fell. Unbidden, memories of so many years ago ran through his head.

The memory of weightlessness, of falling, of flailing, of reaching out for something that wasn't there. The memory of desperately pleading with Altaїr to save him before he died. The memory of Altaїr's stony face, his steely eyes, his uncaring stance, his resolute aura. The memory of betrayal, and the feeling of being stabbed through the heart.

 _SNATCH_

Faris blinked away a few tears when Altaїr's arms shot out, grasping his own before Death could claim him. The elder teen smiled. "You need to be more careful, little brother. I won't always be here to save you."

With a grunt, Altaїr hauled his brother up with a single arm, bringing him to stand on top of Masyaf's roof. Faris smiled. "Thank you."

Altaїr patted him on the back, and moved to stand at the edge of the roof, next to a statue of an eagle. Faris stood on the opposite side of the eagle. Below them spread the whole of Masyaf, and further than that were the mountains and valleys of the Holy Land. Across the village, hundreds of lights shined like stars as the candles of families lit their homes.

"It is a good life we lead, brother," Altaїr said.

"The best."

"May it never change."

"And may it never change us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _DelayedInspiration presents…_

Assassin's Creed: Transcendence

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 _ **The first chapter of a new story. One I look forward to writing very much, and I hope you all enjoy with just as much enthusiasm.**_

 _ **So, how was it? Good, bad, okay, fantastic, brilliant, retarded? I need to know; feedback is a wonderful thing to have. A bit of a fun-fact: the name of Percy's first life, Faris, is Arabic for 'Horseman.' Appropriate, no? And also a bit symbolic, seeing as how Altaїr's name means 'Eagle.'**_

 _ **Oh, a very important thing to note: none of Percy's Assassin lives are going to have demigod powers. Assassins are already OP as it is, all things considered, the last thing the Templars need is and Assassin with demigod strength, speed, reflexes, and powers.**_

 _ **Alright people, she's a new story, so she needs a lot of love. Show her how much you love her by Faving, Following, and Reviewing!**_


	2. The First Life: Solomon's Temple

_The First Life: Solomon's Temple_

 _ **30 reviews on the first chapter, with over 60 Favs and Follows. Sweet holy Hera you people are nothing short of amazing. And so much positive feedback, too. Even better.**_

 _ **Okay, the beauty of**_ _ **Assassin's Creed**_ _ **is that it has a fantastic plot that is easy to follow and is fun to play with. As such, we're hopping straight into canon with a happy smile on our faces. Before we do though: NO, Faris is not taking Altaїr's place in hunting down the Nine, nor is he HELPING Altaїr hunt down the Nine. Faris gets to have his own special plot.**_

 _ **HINT: Pagan gods**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

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 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Wait! There must be another way. This one need not die."

Malik's words went unheeded as Altaїr ran up to the old man, shoved him to his knees, raised his arm and extended his Hidden Blade, and ended the elder's life in a spray of blood. Beneath his hood, Faris had the utmost displeased look on his face.

Tenant One: Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.

Status: Broken.

Faris had watched silently ever since Haras (Templar bastard that stole Faris' brand-new crossbow invention) invaded Masyaf and held the Mentor hostage, which prompted Altaїr and Faris to perform a rescue mission that involved the deaths of many Englishmen threatening civilian lives, forcing Abbas into submission and placing him into a position of power, and some drop assassinations from high places.

The whole ordeal had resulted in Altaїr and Faris being promoted to Master at the same time, with the 21-year-old younger brother setting a new record for youngest promotion to Master. _That event_ prompted Abbas to say a few choice words to the brothers, which prompted Altaїr to spit at Sofian's boots and sneer. Faris had held his tongue, and let the events pass through him, but that was the day he noticed a change in his brother. And it wasn't a good change.

Arrogance had become a mainstay in Altaїr's life from that moment on, and Faris hated himself for not doing something about it. But what could he do? He couldn't just walk up to his brother and kick his ass back into line, or give him a stern talk-down/lecture, and he wasn't about to go behind Altaїr's back and go to Al Mualim.

No, Faris was not pleased with the direction in life his brother had taken, and the only thing he could do was pray that when the Lord came to set Altaїr straight again, He would do so gently.

"An excellent kill. Fortune favors your blade," Kadar Al-Sayf praised his wayward idol.

"Not fortune, skill. Watch a while longer and you may learn something."

"Indeed. He'll teach you how to disrespect everything the Master's taught us," Malik spoke with clear contempt.

"And how would you have done it?" Altaїr snapped.

"I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What I would have done is follow the Creed."

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words. It matters not how we complete our task, only that it's done."

Malik opened his mouth to argue further, but Faris stepped forward. "Enough. Both of you. We are here for a purpose, and it does not involve quarreling amongst ourselves over the tenants of the Creed."

Altaїr smirked, believing his little brother to be on his side. "Listen to Faris and you may just gain a sliver of wisdom. Now, I'll scout ahead for further threats."

With that, the Master Assassin disappeared down the corridors.

Malik scoffed. "How you can put up with such an arrogant man, I do not know. Kadar, if I ever begin to act like that, please, have the spine to correct me-"

"Thank you, Malik. Your opinion on this subject has been noted and filed away." Faris may have shared the lower Assassin's opinion about Altaїr, but that did not mean that the Master was so willing to let others speak it aloud. Call it Protective Brother Syndrome. Faris also did not appreciate the barb Malik at aimed at him for being 'spineless.'

Sensing tension, Kadar sought to diffuse it with a change in subject. "What is our mission? My brother would not tell me, only that I should be honored to have been invited."

"Al Mualim believes the Templars have discovered something under the temple mount."

"Treasure?"

"I do not know. What matters is that the Master considers it important enough to send both my brother and I at the same time to retrieve it."

That wasn't even arrogance. It was a well-known fact in the Brotherhood that Altaїr and Faris were the _best_ the Order had to offer, with the two seemingly invisible in the sparsest crowd, and unstoppable warriors on the battlefield, should the need arise. And when they were together…Heaven help whoever they were being sent after, because the Angel of Death favored the Brothers of None more than any Assassin.

So, for both to be sent on the same mission was cause for great concern.

"Come. Let us hope my brother hasn't done something foolish," Faris said dryly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, the Eagle had killed a man dressed in red and white armed with a sword, but whether that broke a tenant of the Creed was up for debate. Malik seemed to think so, but Faris, being the loyal younger brother, was willing to give Altaїr the benefit of the doubt. Kadar was more focused on the glowing box above.

"Is that…the Ark…of the Covenant…?"

"Don't be silly," Altaїr scolded. "There's no such thing. It's only a story."

Faris grit his teeth. Had his brother truly become so arrogant as to disregard all of the teachings of the faith their Order was built upon?

As if Lucifer himself was pulling the strings of fate, several Templar soldiers, all of them wearing tunics, chain mail armor, and red helmets entered, being led by Assassin Enemy Number 1: Robert de Sable. The Grand Master of the Knights Templar was a very tall man, and a very well-built one, his body packed with muscle from years of training and battle, and he had an intellect to match.

"Robert de Sable. His life his mine," Altaїr intoned.

"No," Malik said. "Our orders were to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."

"He stands between us and it; I would say it's necessary."

"Discretion, Altaїr! You've already broken two tenants of our Creed. Now you would break the third. Do not compromise the Brotherhood!"

Altaїr's anger spiked. "I am your superior, in both title and ability," he said coldly, "you should know better than to question _me_."

Running out of options, Malik turned to Faris, desperately seeking aid in his endeavor to do things silently, quickly, and stealthily…and without needless bloodshed. Malik feared for the life of his own younger brother in this mission, due to Altaїr's blatant disregard for subtlety, and Kadar's own inexperience with such missions. Altaїr saw where Malik's eyes turned, and the Master Assassin was quick to speak.

"Besides, with Faris and I here, victory over Robert, and completion of our mission are guaranteed. Now come, we have work to do."

While Faris did not argue, as he himself was confident in the combined skill of he and his brother, he could not shake the feeling that this was _wrong_. They were here for the treasure, not the life of the Templar Grand Master. Was Robert's life convenient? Undoubtedly. But as Faris' gaze lingered upon the golden Ark, he still couldn't shake the feeling that…this was _wrong_.

Still though, Faris joined his brother on the ground, an uneasy Kadar and a nervous Malik next to him.

' _Please do not be stupid. Please do not be stupid. Please do not be stupid,'_ Faris mentally chanted.

"Hold Templars. You are not the only ones with business here."

' _Please do not be stupid. Please do not be stupid. Please do not be stupid.'_

Robert and his allies turned to face the Assassins. "Ah! Well, this explains my missing man. And what is it that you want?"

' _Please do not be stupid.'_

"Blood."

' _God damn it!'_

His one word answer verbally relayed, Altaїr charged forward, Malik futilely trying to stop him. For a reason Faris could not explain, he froze up. His body simply refused to respond to his commands (he also failed to see the Ark glowing softly above). As such, Altaїr's attack was halted by Robert, the man's superior strength holding the Assassin at bay.

"You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin. I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message. The Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now while he has the chance. Stay, and all of you will die."

During Robert's monologue, Altaїr struggled fervently to free himself, or get his blade close enough to strike, but failed with each attempt. Finally at the end of the speech, Robert threw Altaїr from the room, making him smash through the scaffolding that helped keep the cave entrance from collapsing. The wooden supports now gone due to Altaїr's brief flight, the stone came down, blocking the way back in.

"Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!"

The sound of clanging steel rang loud and true.

" _NO!_ "

Altaїr was at the rocks in an instant, desperately trying to pry the stone from his way so as to join his little brother in combat. It was no use, he did not have the strength to move such heavy objects. Despair overwhelmed Altaїr, and he allowed tears to fall from his eyes at the thought of his brother dying due to his actions…

No. He could not afford to think such thoughts. What he had to do now was return to Masyaf, and await Faris' return. If his little brother was not back within the week, then Altaїr would move heaven and earth to raise an army and storm Jerusalem, if only for the sole purpose of discovering Faris' fate.

Now firm in mind and body and spirit, Altaїr climbed his way out of Solomon's Temple, and returned to his home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Faris' eye twitched when his brother was thrown into the adjacent chamber, and the ceiling came down. Now it was just him, Malik, and Kadar, vs Robert de Sable, and four of his personal guards, all of whom were powerful swordsmen in their own right, with Robert possibly being more than a match for Faris in a contest of the blade.

"Men, at arms! Kill the Assassins!"

Faris responded with his own orders. "Kadar, after the treasure. Malik, you and I have the Templars."

"We would not be in this situation if your brother had just-"

"I know. Thank you. Focus on the battle at hand, please."

While Kadar left the immediate battle and began to climb for the treasure, Faris and Malik had the extreme honor of engaging four Templars at once, seeing as how Robert seemed content to stay back and watch. The world around Faris faded away, and the only thing he became aware of was the two bucket-heads before him.

Moderately tall, muscled well enough, and they carried themselves with the gait of experienced swordsmen. Faris drew his own sword, the curved blade glinting in the torchlight. The Templars drew their own straight swords, and prepared for combat.

The one on the left struck first, but right off the start did he make a mistake. He overextended. Faris brought his blade down, holding the Templar in place, and then backhanded the man. The blow had enough power to send him to the ground. The other Templar moved in, but Faris managed to parry, his hand ringing from the strike. In the moment of respite, the Assassin whipped his crossbow from his back, and shot the first Templar in the throat.

Now, this is the part where Faris hated modern advancements in weaponry. In order to fire another bolt, he would need to use his other hand to pull an arrow from his quiver and notch it, all of which took time, and in a battle, time was not something one had a lot of. After this debacle was over, Faris was going to design a self-reloading mechanism, so help him God.

The second Templar recovered, and engaged Faris once more, only this time his form was tighter, his movements more precise. There were no openings to exploit, and no mistakes to capitalize on. So, they dueled, a deadly clash of steel that lesser men would have found to be impossible to follow.

Their hands numb from so many clashes, the two warriors deadlocked. Faris' hood his eyes from view, and the eyeholes of the Templar's helmet cast his own orbs into shadow. Taking a quick glance to the side, Faris saw Malik knock one Templar to the ground, then sidestep the other and stab him through the throat with his short sword. Then there was Kadar.

"Faris! I have it!"

That was the wrong thing to say as Robert suddenly remembered there was another Assassin. The bald man whipped around, narrowed his eyes, drew his sword, and then he _hurled_ the blade.

 _SQUELCH_

"KADAR!"

The Templar Malik knocked to the ground took that time to attack. He swung his sword, but the Assassin reacted in time to save his arm from being totally cleaved off, but so fast as to prevent total damage. The blade of his short sword blocked that of the Templar's before it could go through the bone, but that was it.

Blood soaked Malik's robes.

Also during the distraction, Faris struck down his own opponent, just as Robert retrieved his sword from Kadar's warm corpse. Malik screamed in anguish, more at the loss of his brother than the sword in his arm. Tearing himself free of the blade, Malik instantly dispatched the offending Templar, and made to charge Robert in blind fury.

Faris stopped the older Assassin. "Stop, Malik! You are no match for him in this state. Take the treasure and return to Masyaf. I'll deal with Robert."

The Assassin's words reached the older man, and the fury in Malik's eyes dimmed just a bit. "You had better make it back yourself," he said. Malik picked up the strange treasure, cradling it gently against his chest, its shape making it an awkward carry for the recently crippled man. With one last look at his fallen sibling, Malik disappeared into the bowels of Solomon's Temple.

"Brave of you, boy," Robert said evenly. "But futile in the end. After I am finished with you, Masyaf will know my wrath, and the treasure will be _mine_ once more."

Faris did not respond, and instead began to pray.

' _My Lord...be with me in this fight against my enemy. Guide my blade and my body. Grant me the knowledge needed to attain victory swiftly. If it be your will that this man falls today, please, accept him with open arms and a kind smile, and please absolve him of his sins. However, if it be your will that I fall today, please welcome me with all that I prayed for Robert. Amen.'_

Robert struck first, and Faris rolled to the side. Popping up, he thrust out his blade, but the Templar parried with enough force to knock the Assassin's saber out of his hands, and then he kicked him in the chest, knocking Faris flat on his back.

The Son of None was back on his feet almost as soon as he went down. He pulled his own short sword out of the sheath on his belt, and he took a stance. Legs spread shoulder-width apart, and offset. Head inclined to where the beak of his hood shielded his identity. His left arm, holding his blade in icepick grip, was held under his right arm, the two limbs forming an 'X' shape.

Robert stalked forward with all the gait of a victorious lion. His face was set in stone, his eyes cold as the steel of his sword, his body taut and coiled for action, his cape billowing behind him, and his sword held tightly at his side. The Templar Grand Master made for quite the imposing sight, but Faris was not afraid.

His Lord was with him.

Robert swung his sword in a mighty downwards arc. Faris slid to the side, and the blade hammered against stone with a clang. The Assassin punched the Templar in the face. Robert grunted, and swung. Faris angled his short sword to where Robert's larger blade glanced off the side. Faris jabbed him in the face again.

This time, blood was drawn.

Robert wiped his jaw, and inspected his now-colored bracer. The Templar smirked. "Your Master has taught you well, boy. It has been many seasons since I last saw my own blood. You have my respect, Assassin…the only men that earn my respect are those that I will kill."

Faris said nothing, but the corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards into a calm smile.

Robert smiled as well, his teeth stained with the crimson fluid of life, but his smile was one of dark anticipation. The anticipation of a worthy challenge.

The Templar raised his sword parallel to the side of his face, then he began to rapidly step forward. He closed the distance between him and Faris within seconds, and he swung with both hands when he got close enough. The Assassin ducked, but Robert' backswing forced the man away before a blow could be struck.

Robert advanced on Faris, swinging his sword with deadly force and precision. Seeing no opening yet, the Assassin displayed his skills in coordination, agility, and stamina as he continued to backpedal and twist, avoiding each of Robert's strikes with expert ease.

Finally, Robert's own stamina gave out, and his next attack was sloppy. Faris immediately capitalized, blocking with his smaller blade, gripping the hilt of the Templar's sword, and kicking him in the gut with enough force to send the man stumbling back…without his sword. Faris dropped the blade, and it kissed the floor with a clang.

Faris approached the Templar, who was on a knee, supporting his weight with a hand on the Temple wall. The Assassin sheathed his short sword, but he was still on a hair-trigger for sudden movements. Robert looked up, saw the approaching Assassin, and he snarled.

The Grand Master stood tall, gaining a second wind.

Faris raised his fists in preparation for a battle of the fists, his missing ring fingers on prominent display. His opponent was a head taller than he was, and a great deal more physically inclined, but he was also tired from his furious sword assault. Where Robert was on his second wind, Faris was still on his first, and was showing no signs of fatigue.

The Templar advanced, and opened the brawl with a series of hard jabs against the metal plates on Faris' bracers, before finishing his combo with a knee to the gut. A knee that the Assassin caught, and slammed his elbow down upon, easily bruising the skin, and perhaps the bone beneath. Robert winced.

Faris' fist shot up from the Templar's leg, and into his lower jaw. De Sable's reflexes were better than would expect, because he grabbed the offending limb in his own powerful grasp, and gripped the front of Faris' robes. The Assassin let go of the leg he was holding, which was a mistake in hindsight seeing as de Sable now had both feet on the ground again.

In a display of extreme physical prowess, the Grand Master lifted Faris off the ground, and threw the man across the Temple floor. In most circumstances, the most damage to be done by this might've been a slight jarring, however, this was a rare circumstance, in which the way Robert launched Faris caused the Assassin to land…and hit his head.

Now, there wasn't anything extreme like loss of consciousness, amnesia, brain damage, or even a concussion of any major concern, but one could say that, to quote a modern phrase, Faris had his bell rung. And it rang loudly. In the daze, Faris felt like he was swimming through the sap of a tree, undergoing a sense of nausea and vertigo at the same time.

It was not pleasant.

However, like all things, the ringing came to an end, and just in time because Robert de Sable was looming over the Assassin, sword poised to deliver a beheading strike. Just as the blade came down, Faris rolled forward, narrowly avoiding death. In a motion too fluid to be real, mid-roll, the Son of None hurled a throwing knife at the Templar's face.

Once more, de Sable's reflexes proved to be exceptional, as the man leaned back with eyes wide in surprise. However, he was not fast enough to escape total injury, as the tiny blade just managed to carve a small little gash upon the blank, curved canvas of the Grand Master's cranium.

Robert grunted in pain as his skin was split, and blood spurted from the wound. He glared murder at the crouched Faris, before roaring so loud that small bits of debris fell from above. He charged forward, a limp in his gait, sword high and cape billowing as a warrior's below tore from his throat.

Faris rolled straight out, right to where his saber had been thrown away, and spun around in a flurry of white.

 _SQUELCH_

Robert's scream died in his throat as he impaled himself upon the curved blade of the Master Assassin. Groaning, he stepped backward, dropping his sword and covering his wound with both arms. It was not a deep cut, and it had missed all vital organs. Robert would live, but that did not mean that he not in pain. Contrary, in addition to this cut in his abdomen, his jaw was sore and blood was leaking into his eye.

The bite of steel upon flesh was not a forgiving one.

Robert took a few steps back, before falling to his knees with a growl of defiance. "Well, boy? Finish it."

Faris sheathed his sword, and approached the Templar. Even on his knees, Robert still managed to look imposing, the blood leaking down his face only adding to his intimidating countenance. The Assassin splayed his hand, causing his Hidden Blade to extend with a SNIKT. He raised his arm, ready to pierce Robert's neck...but _something_ stopped him.

Faris couldn't explain it; there was just this feeling that held him back from striking-from dealing the killing blow. Then Faris remembered his prayer.

The Assassin grabbed Robert de Sable by the throat, and brought them nearly face-to-face.

"Your life...is not mine to take."

Faris punched the Templar in the face, knocking him out. Just then, the Son of None heard the footsteps of several armored men rapidly approaching. When said men entered the chamber, all they found was their master unconscious on the ground, bleeding from the head and abdomen, and a dead Kadar Al-Sayf.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Thus ends the first chapter of the First Life arc. Next chapter will be the Siege of Masyaf, or something similar, haven't made up my mind yet.**_

 _ **Now, you might've noticed something odd about the fight between Faris and Robert. As I wrote it, I made it intentional that there seemed to be several opportunities for our hero to end the villain, most noticeably when Faris punched Robert in the jaw. A simple hand-splay and the Hidden Blade is biting through the jugular.**_

 _ **Instant death.**_

 _ **However, the reason for this is revealed in the very last line of dialogue. I still intend for canon to happen; I still intend for**_ _ **Altaїr to hunt the Nine; I still intend for Altaїr to face Robert and kill him. Therefore, Faris did not kill de Sable. I also realize that many people will not be happy with this, so I will explain the other reason.**_

 _ **God.**_

 _ **Simple as that. Faris is a Christian, and practices the Christian faith (which will be really fun in coming chapters), and so he prays before every major event in his life for the Lord to guide him correctly. Here, God guided Faris to stay his hand from a killing blow for the entirety of the fight.**_

 _ **Don't like it? Tough. I'm a Christian myself, and I find this idea to be different, practical, and fitting for a story based on belief. So, please, respect my faith and a simple work of fiction with religious elements, and don't waste your time with a flame condemning me for being a religious fanatic.**_

 _ **Anyway, Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	3. The First Life: Siege of Masyaf

_The First Life: Siege of Masyaf_

 _ **Alright, a stunning lack of reviews about me and my faith, and more reviews on how it was cool for Faris to be Christian. There was a Guest reviewer that rose the argument that Faris should be an atheist due to the Assassins knowing about the First Civilization and how Jesus performed miracles via a Piece of Eden.**_

 _ **No, the current Assassins do not know of such things. Al Mualim himself doesn't know about the First Civilization, only theorizing that Jesus used the Apple based on the powers it showed him. There's also what Maud, Faris' mother, told Umar, Faris' father, to do:**_ raise them right by the Lord.

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Even to the untrained eye, even to those that didn't know him, Altaïr was agitated. His steps were long and quick-paced, his body tense and restricted, and his head was glued in the direction he strode. So on edge was the Master Assassin that he didn't even stop to greet his fellow Assassin at the entrance to Masyaf, Rauf, and kept on walking, making a beeline for the castle.

Rauf's attempts at conversation the whole way up the slopes were in vain.

Altaïr reached the castle gates, where Abbas was waiting. "Ah, he returns at last. Tell me, where are the others? Did you ride ahead hoping to be the first one ba-ahhh!"

Altaïr gripped the man by the front of his robes, slung him around, and slammed him into the wall. His face mere inches away, the Master said darkly, "Not. Another. Word."

Message delivered, Altaïr dropped Abbas, and the lower Assassin fell to the ground, his knees weak and trembling. Sofian glared murder at Altaïr's retreating back.

"I do not know what happened on that mission," Rauf said as he helped Abbas to his feet, "but I know that Faris is not with him, and that is not good."

Ignoring the looks he received, Altaïr entered the fortress, ascended the two flights of stairs, and met the Mentor in his study. "Altaïr, welcome. Please, tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure."

Now, this was the part where the Son of None had to choose his words carefully. He could not outright say 'Malik and Kadar are dead, and Faris was left behind-please give me an army to go back for him.' There was also his failure that needed to be accounted for.

"No, Master, I have note. There were complications. Robert de Sable was not alone in the Temple."

"I see. Our work seems to never go as expected." Al Mualim looked around, seeming to just now take notice of the absence of others. "Where are Faris? And Malik? And Kadar?"

Altaïr swallowed unnoticeably. "Faris is on his way with the treasure, most likely having disposed of Robert as well," he said with a confidence he did not feel. If anything, he felt apprehensive.

"That is good news, but what are the whereabouts of Malik and Kadar, Altaïr?"

"Dead."

Al Mualim's eyes looked as if they were to fall from their sockets. The man's mouth opened to engage in conversation once more, but an unexpected guest made his presence known.

"No! Not dead!"

"Malik!" the Mentor gasped.

"I still live at least," Al-Sayf glared at the man in the white hood.

And that's as far as Altaïr's attention to the argument went. 'I still live at least.' Where was Faris? What had happened to him? Why was Malik here and not Faris? How could this man have beaten Altaïr's little brother here, an Assassin far more capable in skill and ability? Oh no…

The robed Assassin bringing in the treasure Altaïr had seen in Solomon's Temple was the final straw.

Anger consumed Altaïr, a bubbling ocean that rose and swelled to drown the mere pools that Malik and Al Mualim swam within. Had Altaïr been a practitioner of the Dark Side of the Force, the entire Holy Land would have been shaking under his wrath. As it was, however, Altaïr had no such supernatural power, but that did not stop him from pining Malik to the pillar, and hauling him an entire _foot_ off the ground in fury.

" _Where is he!? Where is Faris!?"_ Altaïr roared, the entire castle seeming to tremble under the power of his voice.

"Altaïr! Calm yourself _now_!"

Al Mualim was ignored.

"Tell me now Malik or so help me God…"

An Assassin came running in. "Master! We are under attack! Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf's village!"

That was all Altaïr needed to hear. He grunted once in Malik's face like a bull warning a matador to keep its distance, before dropping the crippled man like a sack of rotten meat. Heedless of Al Mualim's words, Altaïr cleared the stone railing of the Mentor's study, landed with barely more than a miniscule exhale, before he was shooting through the courtyard and into the field of battle.

If Robert was here, then that meant that he either fended off Faris, escaped with his life and now sought retribution, or the man had _killed_ Altaïr's little brother. Either way, the Son of None would get his answer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Al Mualim growled as Altaïr blatantly ignored him and rushed into the fray. Still not yet calm, the Mentor turned his attention to heavily-breathing Malik, who had a petrified look on his face, as if he had almost been devoured by a lion.

"Malik." The man did not respond, his eyes wide in terror. "Malik!" Finally, he stirred, staring blankly up the Master, but his eyes did hold the light of recognition. Al Mualim was not pleased. "Stand, Malik Al-Sayf!"

That did the trick, because the Assassin was standing erect not a moment later, however he winced as the movement had jostled his arm. "Report on your mission, Assassin."

So Malik did. He recounted Altaïr's blatant disregard for the Creed, Faris' reluctance to speak out against his brother, the confrontation with Robert, how Altaïr was thrown out of the room, then how Faris commanded Kadar to retrieve the treasure while he and Malik held off the Templars, Kadar's death, and ended the tale with how Faris sacrificed himself to give Malik time to escape with the artifact while he stayed to fight Robert.

Al Mualim stroked his beard. "I see…"

"What will be done about them?" Malik demanded.

"Never you mind, boy," the Mentor said coldly, not at all pleased with Malik's tone. "Go and find a healer. Your arm must be attended to."

Al-Sayf looked to argue, but he held his tongue, and bowed, "Yes, Master."

Malik left, and Al Mualim turned to overlook his village. Even from here, the sounds of battle could be heard. Templars and Assassins, both sides slaughtering the other with reckless abandon, with no end in sight, with no shortage of blood for either side. Was that how it would always be then, Al Mualim mused, then his attention shifted to the treasure.

Or could there be a way to end all conflicts of man?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Altaïr didn't hesitate to leap from the cliff, land in a roll, take two steps before leaping once more to the ground some distance below and land in yet another roll. Barely felt a thing. Altaïr looked up just in time to see a man in the traditional red and white garb of the Templar foot soldier dispatch an Assassin that the Son of None did not know in any form or fashion.

Just as well, since Altaïr was only concerned with one specific Assassin.

The Templar charged the Master, and the Master barely had conscious thought as he drew his sword and dispatched the little man with a single blow. Moving on from the fresh corpse, Altaïr came across several small battles before him on the slope.

As if his presence had a magical influence, all of the duels were instantly one by Templars, and all of them noticed Altaïr at the same time. The Assassin's hands flew from his leg, his waist, and his shoulder as he grabbed knives and hurled them at the group of incoming soldiers. They all went down with yelps and shouts of pain as their throats were pierced by small projectiles.

Now low on throwing knives, Altaïr growled to himself, before sprinting off down the slope, ignoring the fresh corpses that he had created. Rounding the bend, the Assassin was annoyed to find more conflict ahead, and more Templars that were able to defeat their Assassin opponents just as he arrived. Seeing no other option, Altaïr drew his sword, and dove into conflict.

The first solider swung, and Altaïr stepped past him, slashed at his ankle—causing him to fall—and finished him by stabbing him through his rib cage. Ribbing his saber out, Altaïr was quick to merely step into the guard of the second solider, impaling him on his blade. Slinging the dying man to ground, the Assassin had an instant to take in that he had four more opponents left, before number three came at him with a shout.

Altaïr slid past the man, dragging his blade through the Templar's body, and doing a spin mid-movement to finish the man off with an overhead slash than came with a satisfying SCRUNCH-like sound. Not stopping, Altaïr was in front of the next man to die, only this one had the presence of mind to raise his sword to block, but Altaïr followed up this defensive maneuver by bitch slapping the man with his gloved hand, making him spin around, then stabbing him through the gullet and kicking his body off.

The fifth man did something different. He wound back for a two-handed blow that might've done some damage…if Altaïr had been a lesser Assassin. Instead, the Master timed his parry with expert precision, throwing the Templar off balance. Altaïr punched the man's stomach, then nailed him with an uppercut, and finished by breaking his legs with the sickening sound of crunching bone.

Should've seen the bones sticking out of his legs. Quite the sight, actually.

Now where did the sixth man go…

Altaïr whirled around, sword raised just in time to block an otherwise lethal blow. The Assassin was knocked to the ground, his opponent's strength far above his own. To make things more interesting, Altaïr had also managed to misplace his sword. Probably knocked from his grasp, all things considered.

The Son of None rose to his feet, taking in his opponent. Easily over six feet in height, covered from head to toe in armor, helmet included, and wielding a massive, two-headed axe. The man's armor was cleanly polished and shiny, perhaps to turn the light of the sun into a blinding weapon of some sort. Held in place by broaches attached the shoulder pauldrons was the front of a tunic that came down to the waist, where it had been tucked underneath a belt with the end of the cloth being frayed and damaged, most likely to prevent the hampering of movement.

Long story short, what Altaïr faced was the Levantine equivalent to a Renaissance-era Brute.

The Assassin tilted his head around, popping his neck. Reaching behind him, he unsheathed his short sword, and held in a reverse grip, just like he had been taught. Just like so many other before him had been taught, and most likely so many others after him would be taught. Altaïr got loose, bounced on his feet a little, and became focused on killing the Templar before him.

The brute grunted, a metallic, hollow sound due to his helmet, and hefted his axe, also ready for combat. He advanced slowly, his heavy armor clinking with each step. He loomed over Altaïr, but the Assassin showed no fear, merely coiling his muscles in preparation for dodging. Then a shadow fell over the two of them and the cry of an eagle was heard loud and clear.

Then something cloaked in white and vaguely human in shape crashed down upon the brute like a falling wall. The Assassin grinned at Altaïr from beneath his hood.

"Greetings, brother. I see you've made it safely back to Masyaf."

In another dimension, Altaïr had been born a woman. At this moment in that dimension, the female Altaïr bull-rushed her little brother and body slammed him into the dirt, doing her best to crush his ribs with blunt force, before giving him a tongue lashing that only an elder sister could deliver. In this dimension, however, Altaïr let out an inaudible breath of relief…before punching Faris in the face.

The younger man fell to the ground with a grunt, his Hidden Blades sliding free of his most recent kill. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Altaïr."

"You imbecile. Why did it take you so long to return?"

"Had to fight Robert, ensure the successful recovery of the treasure, escape with my life, and it's not like Jerusalem is down the path from here…I'm still trying to figure out how the Templars could've beaten me here, especially considering how much damage I dealt Robert de Sable."

Altaïr felt a spark of jealousy upon hearing that Faris seemingly fought and defeated the Templar Grand Master and recovered the treasure in one fell swoop, but he quashed such dark feelings in favor of relief over Faris being alive, well, and unharmed. The elder brother extended his hand, and helped his junior to his feet.

The two shared a matching smile from beneath their eye-covering hoods.

Just then, the village gates burst open, and a slew of Templars stormed in, led by none other than Robert de Sable himself. Altaïr noted the man had a fresh, angry scar upon his head. He also noted the smirk on his little brother's face.

"Do you believe we can defeat them all?"

"With our Lord on our side…absolutely."

The Eagle snorted. "I find your faith in such fairy tales annoying."

"And I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Unknowingly quoting a legend from several hundred years into the future, Faris began to walk down the central slope of Masyaf to engage to the oncoming Templar horde. Altaïr was right next to him, matching him stride for stride, almost as if their movements were choreographed. Then Abbas came streaking past them with his tail visibly between his legs.

"Break off the attack and return to Masyaf! Al Mualim commands it!"

Faris blinked as he watched his childhood arch nemesis go streaking away.

"We are the all the way down here…Al Mualim is all the way up there…how in God's name did Abbas receive such orders? Carrier pigeon?"

"Who's to say?" Altaïr said. "Perhaps it was your Lord that delivered the Master's instruction to Abbas."

"Perhaps."

The brothers sprinted all the way back to the fortress, and when they entered the gates, they came down behind them. Neither sibling was winded, nor were they even breathing any different than if they had gone for a leisurely walk through the village. The courtyard was packed tight with Assassins and innocents alike.

Rauf approached the Sons of None. "Altaïr, come with me. Faris, join Al Mualim on the rampart above the gate. The Mentor is not yet done with us."

The brother followed their fellow Assassin up the ladder, but Altaïr continued up while Faris took a right onto the rampart, where so many Assassins yet stood, the Master standing out in his black robes. The elder brother took up position while the younger stood next to Al Mualim.

The one-eyed man nodded in acceptance of Faris' presence.

Robert and his small army approached from below.

"Heretic! Return what you have stolen from me!" cried the Templar.

"You've no claim to it, Robert! Now take yourself from here before I am forced to thin your ranks further."

"You play a dangerous game, old man!"

Faris stepped forward, becoming visible to the army below. Robert's eyes widened in recognition. "You! You are the one who scared me, and stole what is mine!"

"To be fair, it was someone else that made off with the treasure, I'm just the one that prevented you from giving chase," Faris responded evenly.

"Technicalities and twisted words, _Faris_. If you will not bring what you have taken from me, then I will take from you. Bring forth the hostage!"

From within the mass of red and white soldiers, a man in a hood was brought forward…and promptly stabbed through the chest in an explosion of red mist, and then left to fall to the ground like a common animal. Faris started, but Al Mualim held him back with an arm across the chest, and a very stern look.

"The first of many more to die, Heretic. Your village lays in ruins and your stores are hardly endless! How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when the wells run dry and their food is gone?" Robert taunted.

"My men do not fear death, Robert! They welcome it, and the rewards it brings!"

"Good! Then they shall have it all around!"

Al Mualim gestured to the three Assassins standing on high. "Show these fool knights what it means to have no fear! Go to God!"

With that, all three leapt from their platforms, and sailed out of sight.

Robert de Sable had to blink at that. Did he just witness three grown men leap to their deaths on nothing but command alone? The Grand Master blinked a few more times, just to make sure he was not hallucinating due to his recent head injury. Nope; not hallucinating. Sweet Lord above these Assassins were fucked up.

"Congratulations, Heretic! You've successfully murdered three more Assassins for me! Now you and more men have a few less mouths to feed in this time of crisis, and may just survive a little while longer. Thank you for your generous contribution to my cause."

Faris saw his brother enter the guard tower, and he gave a kind smiled to Robert, and he even offered a cordial wave of the hand. "Bye-bye Robert."

The Templar adopted a confused look, and then the logs came down.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Sons of None stood before the Mentor, four of their brothers standing behind them, and the whole of the Order was below in the courtyard.

"You did well to drive Robert from here. His force is broken. It should be a long while before he troubles us again. Tell me, do you know why it is you are successful?" Al Mualim asked. At the brothers' silence, both out of different forms of confusion, the Mentor continued, "Because you _listened_. Were it that you listened in Solomon's Temple, Altaïr, all of this would've been avoided."

"I did as I was asked."

"No, you did as you please!" loudly spoke the Mentor. "Malik told me of the arrogance you displayed—your disregard for our ways!"

The brothers were gabbed behind by their fellow Assassin's their arms retrained.

"What are you doing!?" roared Altaïr.

"Master, what is this!?" Faris said surprised. While he could've _easily_ broken this hold on him, he wanted a reason for this sudden turn of events before he acted rashly.

"There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassiun's Creed: three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost: stay you blade—"

"—from the flesh of the innocent. I _know_."

Al Mualim backhanded Altaïr across the face. "And stay your _tongue_! Unless I give you leave to use it. If you are so familiar with this tenet, then why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die."

Altaïr jerked his head around, refusing to meet the Mentor's face.

"Your insolence knows no bounds," Al Mualim growled. "Make humble your heart child, or I swear I'll tear from with my own hands!" While not threatened, Altaïr did still himself. Faris struggled, "Mentor-!"

The Horseman was silenced with a glare. Altaïr snarled at the blatant threat to the last member of his family. He was ignored.

Al Mualim began pacing. "The second tenet is that which gives us strength: hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you chose to _expose_ yourself, drawing attention before you struck! The third and final tenet, the worst of all your betrayals. Never compromise the Brotherhood. It's meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us, direct or indirect! Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger! Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home! Every man we lost today, was _lost_ because of _you_!"

Al Mualim took a breath, calming his nerves after his tirade. The Assassins in the crowds behind shifted around nervously, their Mentor's anger becoming palpable, the whole situation out of the ordinary, and their discomfort with the events taking place was great. The black-robed man finally addressed Faris Ibn-La-Ahad.

"And you…you do not share your brother's arrogance, and your faith is strong, but you are far from blameless in these events," Al Mualim said evenly, voice hard as stone. "Malik has told me of your faults as well, how you have stayed silent for all these years as you watched your brother spiral out of control. Like I said to Altaïr, your actions must never compromise the Brotherhood, whether direct or indirect, and your silence regarding your brother has indirectly brought great harm upon us all.

"Still, I commend you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Your actions in Solomon's Temple will be remembered for all time, and your dedication to our Order and God will also be written down. Alas, your actions and those of Altaïr cannot be overlooked."

Al Mualim drew a dagger, but it wasn't just any dagger. It was the same ceremonial weapon used to welcome an Assassin into the Brotherhood. In other words, it was the same knife that had removed the brothers' ring fingers so many years ago. Altaïr struggled, while Faris hung his head, accepting of what was to come.

"I am sorry, I truly am. But I cannot abide traitors."

"We are not traitors," Altaïr growled.

"Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you…both of you."

Al Mualim stabbed the Eagle in the gut, causing him to briefly howl in pain. The Mentor withdrew the dagger, and the Assassins dropped the Eagle his wings clipped. The Horseman did not watch, his head bowed in such a way that his eyes were hidden. He heard footsteps approach.

"I've always wondered what my mother looked like," the Horseman said softly. "Will I see her?"

"Do you hold the truths of God in your heart, child?"

"I do."

"Then yes. You will see your mother in Heaven."

The Horseman endured a brief moment of agony in his abdomen, before all became like light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Faris stood on what could only be described as clouds. Around him, the sapphire blue sky enveloped all that the eye could see. There was no wind, and there was no sound, and it was not cold, but a comfortable temperature. Faris did not see the sun, but there was a great, soft glow coming from in front of him.

However, that was not what caught the Assassin's attention.

It was the gates, and the robed man standing in front of them.

Faris approached, his steps making no sound. "Is this…?"

"Yes."

"Then, I am…but my brother. Where is he?"

The man smiled sadly. "He still walks among the men of the earth…as do you."

"…I do not understand."

"You will, shortly. It is not yet your time, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. The Lord still has much work for you to do."

Faris blinked, and the next thing he knew was that he was standing in front of Al Mualim, who was sitting at his desk within his private study. The Son of None's hands roamed his body, finding all of his weapons, equipment, and robes to be in perfect condition, despite the throngs of battle taking their toll on clothes…and being stabbed.

That hole was gone.

"I am alive…but I know you stabbed me…and I saw…I saw…" Faris struggled to remember just _what_ he saw.

"You saw what I wanted you to see," said Al Mualim, "and then you slept the sleep of the dead, of the womb, so that you may be reborn."

"What is the meaning behind this?"

"Tell me, do you know what we Assassins fight for?"

"Peace. In all things."

"Yes, in all things. It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another. It refers to peace within as well. You cannot have one without the other."

"I see."

Al Mualim studied the young man in front of him. What he saw in Faris was not in Altaïr, and so the Mentor said thusly, "Yes, you do. You have a wisdom for our Creed that your brother does not. Tell me, what is the truth?"

Faris cocked his head in confusion, but he answered nonetheless. He answered with the wisdom he had gained from his travels, from his experiences, and from his studies of the Bible. He answered in a way his brother would, so many weeks from that day. "We place faith in ourselves. We see the world as it truly is, and hope that one day all mankind will see the same."

"What is the world, then?"

"An illusion. One we can either submit to, as most do, or transcend."

"What is it to transcend?"

"To realize Nothing is True, and Everything is Permitted. That laws arise not from divinity, but reason. Our Creed does not command us to be free, but to be wise."

Al Mualim smiled proudly. "Spoken just like your father, Faris. If only your brother shared your wisdom."

"Where is he?"

"Elsewhere." That was all the Mentor said, and his tone made it clear that was all he was going to say, so Faris asked a different question, "I can only assume that put Altaïr and me to sleep for our sins is not the extent of your plan?"

Al Mualim smirked. "No. No it is not. Your crimes were not as severe as Altaïr's, and therefore your road to redemption is an easier one, but it is still not to be taken lightly."

"I understand. What is to be done with me, then?"

"Templars," the Mentor gravely intoned. "Our spies have informed me that Robert de Sable has dispatched an expedition across the sea to search for an unknown object."

"A treasure like the one in Solomon's Temple?"

"I fear it so. Your mission is to track down the expedition, discover their motives, and either put an end to them, or let them be."

"Understood, Mentor. What is to happen to Altaïr?"

Al Mualim waved his hand in dismissal. "Do not worry about him, my child. I have already chosen Altaïr's path. There is work to be done in the Holy Land, and there is work to be done elsewhere. Your work."

"And where is it that my work will take me?"

"Greece."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Faris accepted his mission, and underwent this daunting task with a prayer, and a healthy amount of Faith. Two days of nonstop travel brought the Assassin to the coast, and two more days of fair wind brought him to Cyprus. Three days of traveling across the island yielded information that a host of Templar Knights had boarded a ship bound for the island of Crete.

Faris easily acquired the funds necessary for a boat, and the trip from Cyprus to Crete was one filled with waves, bad weather, some squealing horses and other animals, and then the blessing of the Lord to make the voyage last only four days. Still, four days at sea in the late 12th century was not exactly pleasant.

Faris found good fortune at the docks, with sailors eager to make a bit of money on the side in exchange for information, and the Assassin saw no harm in giving out a few coins. He learned that a large expedition, 300 men, apparently, were headed west for the mountain of Ida. Faris also discovered that he was only three days behind his targets.

So he got a horse.

"What should I call you," the Assassin asked his newly purchased pure-bred, all-white stallion. "Something that starts with A? B? C…?" Faris continued through the letters, until the horse whinnied and stamped when he got to R. "Hmm, what words do I know of that start with R…"

Faris' face scrunched beneath his hood as thought. His horse watched him silently, tail occasionally flicking.

"Robert?"

The horse neighed in the negative.

"Rashad?"

Nope.

"Rommel?"

No.

"Richard?"

Nadda.

"…Roach?"

The horse whinnied and stamped in the positive, clearly proud of his new name.

"Roach it is, then." Faris mounted his steed, and flicked the reigns. The Horseman and the Horse went charging off into a westerly direction. During the trip, through all the little mishaps and mini-adventures and events that would make for fun stories in the future, Faris made a little song that fit perfectly with a travelling montage.

" _Look out new world here we come  
Brave, intrepid and then some  
Pioneers of maximum  
Audacity whose resumes  
Show that we are just the team  
To live where others merely dream  
Building up a head of steam  
On the trail we blaze_

 _Changing legend into fact  
We shall ride into history  
Turning myth into truth  
We shall surely gaze  
On the sweet unfolding  
Of an antique mystery  
All will be revealed  
On the trail we blaze_

 _Paradise is close at hand  
Shangri-La the promised land  
Seventh heaven on demand  
Quite unusual nowadays  
Virgin vistas, undefiled  
Minds and bodies running wild  
In the man behold the child  
On the trail we blaze_

 _The trail we blaze  
Is a road uncharted  
Through terra incognita to a golden shrine  
No place for the traveler  
To be faint-hearted  
We are part of the sumptuous grand design_

 _Changing legend into fact  
We shall ride into history  
Turning myth into truth  
We shall surely gaze on the sweet unfolding  
Of an antique mystery  
All will be revealed  
On the trail we blaze  
On the trail we blaze!"_

Faris resolved himself to write that song down one day, and see if he couldn't find any instruments that would play perfectly with his new, catchy little tune. After three days of traveling through Crete, following a path that would make sense for an army to travel, Faris found himself on a cliff, overlooking a valley. Opposite of him stood Mt. Ida, its green-covered slopes most likely more beautiful in the noonday sun than in the late evening.

However, there was on great big thing that was wrong with the scenery: the burning village below.

From up high, Faris could see the Knights Templar storming through the large expanse of land, and he could see flashes of silver, and he could see groups of people in orange robes fervently engaged in battle with the Templars, using what appeared to be pitchforks and other farming equipment.

The Assassin's blood boiled. Those men claimed to be soldiers of God, and yet they brought devastation to his children for no apparent reason. What benefit was there in destroying the homes and crops of _farmers_?

Desiring a better grasp on the situation, Faris closed his eyes, and focused on the environment and his surroundings. He opened his eyes, and the entire world was different. Everything was tinted dark blue, and down below, hundreds of red lights swarmed around. Those red blips were undoubtedly the Templars, but then things got strange.

Faris expected the farmer to not glow at all, or at the very least glow blue, but instead they glowed the colors of the rainbow. Faris saw wine purples, he saw moonlight silvers, he saw forest greens, he saw sunlight yellows, he saw forge fire orange and reds, he saw stormcloud greys, he saw bright pinks, he saw light blues—like a pale sky, he saw reds, but they were a softer shade than the Templar's colors, and finally, he saw one strange shade of blue, different than the norm and different than the other blues down below.

Faris looked around, and he saw a golden figure sitting upon a horse.

Reigning in his senses, the world returned to its normal colors of sunset pink and orange, accompanied by the black of smoke and the green of the land. Down below, the masses that Faris saw were still glowing their respective colors. Now able to see better (technically), the Assassin saw that golden man was wielding a strange sword, one that looked to be made of gold, but glowed like fire and lightning.

Speaking of lightning, the lone blue that Faris saw, a woman it seemed, raised her hand to the sky, and swiftly thrust it at the Templar. To the Assassin's utter confusion and amazement, a bolt of lightning came spitting from the clouds. The Templar's sword glowed, and seemingly ate the bolt of God's Wrath.

Faris did not know what just happened, but he did know that there was no sword that could be made by men that could perform such a feat, and there was certainly no way for a mortal blade to expel light and power capable of knocking so many off their feet with but a casual flick.

Recognizing the extreme amount of danger there was below, the Son of None flicked the reigns, causing Roach to whinny and rear, before thundering down the wide path to the valley below. Faris did not have a clue as to why Templars were attacking farmers, or why those farmers glowed so many different colors, or why there seemed to be a woman that could call upon the power of God, or why there was a Templar that had a sword that could absorb the power of the Lord and direct it elsewhere, but he did know this:

God had brought him here for a reason.

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 _ **Next chapter is going to be so much fun.**_

 _ **You also can't get mad at me for bringing Camp Half-Blood into the fray 800 years early. I did hint at what was to happen at the top of chapter 2, so go back and read that top AN for clues.**_

 _ **Anyway, so we've got an Assassin that can see the godly heritage of demigods via Eagle Vision, a Templar with a Sword of Eden that can contend with demigod powers, a Templar army able to go toe-to-toe with demigods, the Hunters of Artemis down in the fray, and a devout Christian diving into a world of Pagans.**_

 _ **Oh yes, next chapter is going to be so much**_ _ **fun**_ _ **! Especially considering when Percy goes to Camp and has all the memories of Faris.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review, please!**_


	4. The First Life: Pagan Gods

_The First Life: Pagan Gods_

 _ **Welcome back ladies and gentlemen and kind patrons!**_

 _ **Did you know that you can chop down bamboo trees using a rusty pickaxe? I sure didn't until Tuesday, the 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **. The trick is to use the shaft just below the axe part, using pure blunt force to shatter the tree's base. After that, just yell timber, and have some AC/DC playing in the background. God, I am so sore.**_

 _ **Good feedback on chapters so far, but I want to address a crucial detail in regards to this chapter. Today's installment sees Faris, a Christian, meeting the Greeks, Pagans, which is going to be fun. Now, I've received multiple reviews regarding that Templars are not Christian, Altaїr is atheist, and that Jesus' powers stemmed from the Shroud of Eden.**_

 _ **Per the AC Wiki, you are correct. Per my fanfic, you are wrong. Like I've said before, I'm a Christian myself, therefore Jesus is Jesus and God is God. Simple as that. Now, with that being said, this chapter will explain the intrinsic relationship between the pantheons, and explain what being a Christian means when fighting a Pagan.**_

 _ **Please don't flame me for fiction.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own AC or PJO

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Zoё Nightshade was not having a good day. Granted, whenever she was forced to reside within Camp Half-Blood, surrounded by ignorant and lost maidens and dimwitted, smelly, perverted little boys, good days were nonexistent. Still, today was just overkill.

Two days it had been since Artemis left with Apollo to engage in some sibling bonding time, and the Huntress was ready to shoot herself in the face with her own bow. Hades, not even sex with one of her fellow maidens was enough to bring some peace to Zoё's restless mind. Then, as if the Fates had answered her prayers, the conch shells began blaring in alarm, alerting the entire camp of children, teens, and young adults to an incoming attack…from something.

Most assumed it was just some monsters wishing to test their mettle against the children of the gods, and Zoё would not be lying when she said she was looking forward to shooting something with a penis, and not get in trouble for it. However, upon seeing what was coming for the camp, the Huntress' good mood instantly went down to the bottom of the ocean.

Christians.

There was a reason Camp Half-Blood was situated in the middle of Crete, isolated away from all civilization. It was to avoid _these_ guys. Zoё did not know just where the Christian God stood in the divine food chain, but she did know that Zeus himself did not want to tangle with Him, and so he decreed—with the full support of the council, too—that future demigods would trained as far away from religious sects as possible.

Zoё could understand that wariness all too well. Being almost 4,000 years old, the Huntress had seen many things, and done many things. Killed boys, hunted monsters, laid with girls—and a goddess, to boot—and bear witness to the power and wrath of the Christian God. Now, it was truly no different than what any Greek could pull off. Plagues, curses, feats of impossible phenomena…but there was just something…different…about all of it.

Perhaps it had something to do with the pale visage of Artemis every time the Hunt was present to witness the next act of God, like the Moon Goddess was scared that He would soon visit her next. Regardless of the motive, if it made a deity apprehensive, then it was cause enough for any and every lower-tier being to stock up on underwear.

Although, perhaps the greatest proof of the Christian's power was going on right in front of Zoё Nightshade, at this very moment. An army Templar Knights, all of them bearing a bold red cross upon their chests, swarmed Camp Half-Blood. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Mortals had tried before to attack the camp, and all failed for the simple reason that your average demigod could through your average human around like a ragdoll. Being half-god as they were, they were all stronger, faster, and better than their human counterparts, with their natural instincts and battle reflexes making them more than a match for any adult.

Zoё had seen a child no more than eight cave a grown man's skull in before.

But this was not the case today. The enemy might have been Christian soldiers on what was most likely some Crusade to destroy the Pagan children—which begged the question of how these men found Camp Half-Blood in the first place—but they were still mortal, which meant that no amount of Celestial Bronze was going to do a lick of damage to any of them. Still though, they were _demigods_ , half mortal, half god. Even using basic farming equipment should've made them more than capable of slaughtering these invaders.

The Crusaders cleaved through wood, flesh, and bone like it was parchment. 23 teens went down in a flash before everyone realized that something was very wrong here. Zoё suspected it had to do with their religion. In ancient times, the Olympians were at their most powerful—and by extension, their children—because 90% of the known world worshipped them; now they were regarded as fun bedtime stories for children, which caused their power to greatly diminish. Today, with Christianity sweeping the world, it made sense the He and his followers would have some ability as well.

Whether or not Zoё's theory about religious superiority was correct, there was one thing that was painfully obvious: the Greeks were outmatched. The Crusaders were faster than the children of Hermes, more accurate than the children of Apollo and the Huntress', much to their collective ire, they were stronger than the children of Ares—even in the middle of this intense battle—and they cut through any greenery that the children of Demeter grew with ease. Not even the daughter of Zeus could stand up to the Crusader leader; his strange sword countered her lightning strikes with brutal efficiency.

As if the slaughter wasn't chaos enough, everything was also on fire, and there was a priest that continued to bellow scripture like his life depended on it. More than once, Zoё took a shot at the man, and every time her arrows bounced off of some invisible barrier.

It was annoying.

But not as annoying as _not_ knowing where any of her sisters were at, not knowing where any of the campers were at, not knowing where Chiron was at, not knowing where Artemis was at, and not knowing why she was having her ass handed to her by mere mortal men.

Zoё let out a shuddering gasp as the Crusader's sword met her knives. The power behind the blow sent the Huntress sprawling to the dirt, her arms numb and stinging. He blades had been broken. Zoё growled as she looked at her adversaries. Three men, all armed, and all of them were built like oxen and tall as a horse. They were in the front, and a burning structure was to Zoё's rear.

The thing the Huntress hated most about the Crusaders in front of her was their faces. They were set, resolute, stern, and focused. Their dark eyes held nothing but contempt and loathing and seriousness as they bored into Zoё own dark orbs. What Zoё hated was that she could only hate these men for besting her in combat, and not for being sleazy, lustful degenerates that wanted to tear her skirt off and rape her.

Points for honor and chivalry.

It seemed, at least, that her death would be a quick one.

The Crusaders bore down on Zoё hard, their sword raised for a triple blow. Nightshade closed her eyes tight, bracing for her inevitable meeting with Hades. But instead of hearing the whistling of blades cleaving through the air, she heard…stabbing?

Three different times?

Zoё finally worked up the courage to open her eyes, and she gasped. The Knights all had holes in their chests, all three openings leaking crimson life, turning their tunics and red as the cross they bore. Their eyes were lifeless, and trails of blood came from the corners of their mouths. Finally, their bodies caught up with them, and their swords clattered to ground just as lifeless as their wielders.

Zoё saw who stood behind the Crusaders, and she felt _fear_. "T-Thanatos?"

The man whose white hood shrouded his face merely cocked his head to the side, his visible mouth set in a thin line. Blood dripped from his left hand, and blood stained the white of robe's sleeve. The burning structure behind Zoё gave out, causing the girl to flinch and close her eyes in nothing but pure reflex. When she opened them again, the man in the white robe was gone.

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Upon closer inspection, Faris discovered that the Templars were _not_ , in fact, destroying a farm and killing farmers. Oh no, they were doing something much worse than that. They were killing _children_. Already, Faris had come across no less than five bodies that couldn't have been any older than ten years, and many more than couldn't have been any older than seventeen years. Not even the females were spared from this brutal onslaught.

But why? Faris thought. What could prompt Templars to attack a village of children? Was there an Assassin here that Al Mualim neglected to tell him about, and the Templars were going to every length to kill him/her? Were these children hiding a treasure like that in Solomon's Temple? What sword was the leader wielding? Who was the girl that called lightning? Why weren't there any adults around here?

All these questions and more popped up inside Faris' head, and as he pondered on them, he moved through the burning village, hidden within the chaos and the panic. Like a predator on the hunt, Faris stalked group after group after group of Templars, dispatching them with dizzying speed and lethal efficiency. On autopilot, the Master Assassin never once drew his swords, only using his crossbow, throwing knives, and Hidden Blades.

While doing this, he came across the glowing children, and he noticed similarities. Those that glowed purple had purple eyes and curly black hair; those that glowed grey had similar grey eyes and straw-colored hair; those that glowed green had green eyes and smooth black hair, like rich soil; those that glowed red had no similar eye or hair color, but they did all share the same rough, rugged features. Those that were like the sun all had sky-blue eyes and straw hair that was different shade than those with grey eyes; the ones that glowed like fire had no similar eye or hair color, but they all shared the same physiques, like ones that spent days in the forges, even the females; those that glowed pink also had no similar features, beyond all of them being exceptionally beautiful, even the boys. The ones that were light blue typically had eyes that were the same shade as their aura, and a mixed hair color, and mischievous looks. Then there were the ones glowed silver…they had no similarities at all.

In fact, most of the silver ones had more in common with the other children than with themselves. Now that Faris thought about it, the only ones that glowed silver were _girls_ ; he had yet to see any boys that shared the strange silver glow. Factoring in the all-girls thing, and the phenomena that they all had similar features to other children, Faris felt that he could safely assume that the silver group were some sort of special unit of females only, and that they were chosen from the other color groups.

After the Horseman was done here, Lord willing he would find answers to these questions.

But first, he had to deal with the Templar.

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Faris did not know what to make of what he was seeing. There had to have been something in the air here, something that was causing him to hallucinate. First off, he had found the girl that could call lightning. She wielded a spear made of a strange bronze-looking metal, a spear that… _created_ its own lightning. Second off, Faris saw a man with the lower half of a horse; he knew what this creature was since he had read about them in some of the texts at Masyaf, but that still did not explain why a _centaur_ was running around here. Third off, Faris found the Templar.

Even on his horse, the man looked massive. He was dressed head to toe in a suit of black chain mail, a black tunic with a red across on the front, metal pads on his knees, a white cape with a crimson interior, complete with a red cross on the shoulder, and a helmet that completely covered his head. The helmet's left eyehole had a scratch going through the middle of it, and had gold strips inlaid within. One down the middle, one down each side, and one going down the back, with a band enveloping the eyeholes. These bands of precious metal all lead to the helmet's crown, where a figurehead of a small eagle with wings outstretched had been placed.

Then there was the Templar's sword. The hilt was gold, the pommel had a sharpened emerald, the cross guard was perfectly straight, a ruby was encrusted just before the blade made its way up, while the blade itself was long, double-edged, and had several strange symbols carved into the flat. The entire weapon was elegant, beautiful, sleek, lethal…and glowing.

Why was the sword glowing?

A question to be answered later, seeing as how the Templar upon the horse had been successfully dueling both the girl and the centaur with what appeared to be ease, but was now knocking aside the girl's spear, kicking her in the chest, blocking the centaur's blade which caused an explosion of light that left the Templar standing and the others sprawling in the dirt.

It was night now, with a full moon glowing overhead, though hard to see it was, due to the amount of smoke rising from seemingly everywhere, and the orange glow of the fire provided more illumination than the celestial body. Faris put faith in the belief that the orange-clad children he had rescued from death were either making their escape or trying to put out the fires. The Master Assassin did not worry about Templar interference, seeing as how all Templars besides this one were dead.

Even the old priest quoting scripture had been eternally silenced.

Faris watched the Templar, debating on a course of action to take. Slink back into the smoke and fire, and strike from behind? Use throwing knives and crossbow bolts from a safe distance, using the burning structure as cover? Head on attack and pray for the best? And what to do about the girl and the centaur? Rescue them, or leave them to die?

Well, he had gone through the trouble of saving the rest of the orange-clad children, what was two more?

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Chiron the Centaur never thought he would see this day. The day in which he and his children were bested by mortals. Whoever this man was, whatever sword that he wielded, he was powerful, he was formidable, he was strong, and he could not be beat. This battle was proof of that.

With that strange sword of his, this Crusader had completely nullified all of Clio's lightning attacks, bested her in combat, and bested _him_ in combat. Now, Chiron was not an arrogant centaur, and he recognized the fact that he had limits, but being defeated by a human man was absolutely disgraceful, especially when he had the most powerful demigod of this age fighting right beside him.

Now, on the ground in full horse form, getting up was not easy, and Chiron desperately needed to get up in order to save the daughter of Zeus from this mortal menace. Chiron struggled and kicked mightily, throwing his weight around to try and gain some momentum to stand, but he could not gain any. He always avoided getting into this position for a reason: he needed help to get back up.

Then there was someone at his flank.

Chiron looked, and gasped at what he beheld: a white wraith covered in an armor of ash and blood. The wraith was male, based on the physique, and any of his face was hidden behind the beaked hood. Chiron was too stunned to speak, but the wraith spoke just fine.

"I do not know how your existence in possible, centaur, and so I expect answers to my questions after I deal with the Templar. For now, take the girl and seek refuge. The rest of the army had been dealt with.

Chiron's eyes popped out of his head. The rest of the army, as in the 300 men, had all been wiped out by a single man? The same army that had pushed half-bloods over the edge and into the arms of Hades? This couldn't be a mortal man—no mortal could kill that many trained and armed soldiers. But then again, was the hooded figure truly a man?

The supposed man grunted and heaved, and further surprised the old centaur by single-handedly lifting him onto his hooves. That was a feat that many children of Ares could accomplish, and yet here was a single man doing it all by himself.

Chiron brushed off his shock at this absurd situation in favor of galloping forward as fast as he could go, and seeing as how he was _the_ centaur, that was pretty damn fast. Still, the Templar proved once more that he was more than normal when he swung his glowing blade and almost cleaved the full-speed Chiron's head off. The son of Kronos bent backwards, avoiding the edge, and then scooped Clio off the ground and raced into the distance.

Chiron was immensely relieved to find none of his children's bodies among the camp grounds, yet slightly disturbed at the massive amounts of Crusader corpses that littered the ground. A single man had done this?

As Chiron raced away, heading towards the massive gathering of divine essence that he could sense up ahead, he resolved himself to converse with this wraith.

He, too, had questions that he wanted answered.

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The Templar turned around on his horse, and Faris heard him take a sharp intake of breath. **"Assassin,"** he said, his voice warped and deepened by his helmet. **"I was warned by Robert that one of your kind would be after me, if only to get your greedy hands on the Sword. I know of you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, Assassin with Eight Fingers, and I know of your faith. I am curious: would you be so eager to take my life if you knew the truth of this place?"**

Interest piqued yet ignored, Faris drew his curved saber, and prepared for combat with a prayer.

The Templar seemed to smirk under his helmet. **"So you wish to die as ignorant as you have arrived. Very well then, Assassin. Allow me to show you the true power of God!"**

From atop his steed, the Templar's sword glowed, blade tip pointed at Faris. A bolt of energy was discharged, but the Assassin rolled out of the way. The ground steamed and burned as if on fire. The Templar continued to fire blasts of energy, and Faris continued to roll out of the way with no signs of fatigue.

Eventually, the Assassin rolled out of sight and into a cloud of smoke. The Templar growled, fully aware of just how dangerous his foe had just become. Out of view like this, Faris could come from any direction, and he was not limited to the ground. This wouldn't be much of problem if the Templar knew more about the artifact in his hand.

He knew that it gave him the strength to fight the pagans, gave him the ability to absorb pagan magic, and gave him the ability to draw strength from, and give strength to, his underlings so that they would be able to fight this pagan menace themselves.Beyond that, the Templar did not know the full limits of the divine weapon he wielded.

The Templar heard shuffling feet behind him, so he whirled around, firing a blast of God's power. Whether Faris had actually been there or not would remain a mystery, but the fate of the burning building was no such puzzle. It was completely destroyed. Then the Templar had a lightbulb moment.

Jerking his reign about, the Templar fired blast after blast at his surroundings, blowing up structures left and right. The idea was a simple one: remove all places in which the Assassin could hide.

Shuffling feet were heard, and the Templar was quick to spin around and discharge another blast. Feet were heard again, and so another building was blown up. The underling of Robert de Sable suddenly found himself plagued by footsteps on all sides, and so he was just as quick to fire in all directions.

At this point, the only thing left of the pagan hideout was ash, smoke, and char wood.

And the occasional dead body strewn about the place.

Looking around, spinning his horse in a circle, the Templar realized he had a very big problem on his hands: smoke. Lots and lots of smoke. So much smoke in fact, that he couldn't see. And not being able to see an Assassin was a very serious problem, especially one as skilled as the Son of None.

Realizing that he was out in the open, the Templar calmly pulled back on the reigns, and his horse walked into the smoke. His strategy was simple: in this visibly-limited environment, he could not see Faris, but Faris could not see him, either. So, in this game of cat and mouse, why could there not be two cats, both hunting the other?

Unfortunately, in this archaic time, death by smoke inhalation was still possible, and helmets of this time did give one the ability to breath in a fire. This was something the Templar discovered within seconds of entering the smoke cloud, and he was quick to exit before he choked to death.

And that was when the Horseman struck.

The Templar did not know what happened. One second, he was galloping full-speed in direction ThatWay, the next his horse was whinnying sharply as if struck by something and stumbling to the ground as if it were dead. Luckily, the Templar was not crushed by his horse, but he did lose the Sword, and he could not feel his right leg.

Probably had something to do with the dead horse laying on top of it.

Wait, why was the horse dead?

Craning his neck as much as he could in his current position, the Templar growled at seeing the small arrow embedded in his horse's neck, right where the artery was. Due to his helmet, his growl sounded terrifyingly like that of an animal, and the grunts that ensued, as the Templar began freeing himself of his equine companion, were just as bestial.

With a final push, the Templar managed to gain enough leverage to lift his steed, and roll away. Now freed, the man faced another problem: walking. Just by looking at his chain mail-covered limb, the Templar could see that he wasn't going to be putting _any_ weight on it for a long time. If the horse had just fallen on him, his leg would probably just be a little throbby, but no. His horse had _slammed_ down upon his leg, which appeared to have shattered the bone.

The Templar chocked his lack of agony up to how strong of a man he was, when in reality it was a massive flood of endorphins and adrenaline. Current day science wasn't advanced enough to identify such chemicals.

Then the Templar felt a presence right next to him suddenly, and looked up to see none other than the white-robed Angel of Death…standing just out of reach to strike at. With an effort, the Templar managed to haul himself over to a standing beam, cool enough to where it could be leaned against, and propped himself up. With a breath, he removed his helmet.

The Templar was a man in his early thirties at least, with a tough face, a scar over his left eye, which was pale and colorless, long brown hair, a brown goatee, and blue eyes. "I've showed you my face…can you do the same?"

Faris said nothing, but he did lower his hood, revealing a face and hair style almost identical to that of his older brother's. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"Baron von Wolff," the Templar answered clearly. His leg was broken, but that was all. He was not fatally wounded or dying of exhaustion, so there was no reason to sound beaten, despite the circumstances.

"You know what I'm going to do now, yes?"

"I do."

"Will you try to stop me?"

"No. I have accepted my fate, and I will meet it with dignity and honor."

Faris nodded once, before he was at the Templar's side with a few strides, and his blade glided into von Wolff's neck with painless ease.

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The Son of None knew not how he entered this strange world of blue and flickering symbols of white, but he knew that it was here that he could hear the last words and confessions of the men he killed, and could know them better as the men that they were. It was also here that he could ask his questions, and not worry about lies.

Faris liked to think this was his own personal Purgatory, gifted to him by God so that he may know his fellow man on a level not many are privy to.

"Your confidence in that weapon betrayed you, Templar. I knew that you would use it to attack me from a distance in order to keep me at bay, so I ran from building, and let you create your own trap. You smoked yourself out, and it was easy to take down your horse."

"How did you know where I was, and what direction I would exit from?" von Wolff asked with a cough of blood, his neck painted crimson.

"I have the ability to see things, even through barriers like smoke and buildings. I could see you then as easily as I do now. As for knowing your exit direction, that was the will of the Lord."

Wolff nodded. "I see. So He was against me from the beginning, despite my purpose here."

"It would appear so," Faris nodded. "You mentioned your purpose earlier. What were you doing here, Templar?"

Von Wolff smirked. "Pagan gods, Assassin. Our Lord is not the only god that lives, but He is still supreme above all. I was sent here by Robert to wipe these abominations out, these offspring of false idols."

Faris cocked his head to the side, filing the pagan gods bit away for later. "I thought de Sable did not believe."

Von Wolff chuckled. "Your thoughts are correct. We unearthed the Sword mere days ago, and we could not transfer it to the Grand Master in time for his Jerusalem expedition. However, upon learning of this gathering of pagan trash, we saw the perfect opportunity to test the power of the Sword.

"Robert my not believe in the Word, but I do. I did not see this as an experiment, but a crusade, the only righteous one taking place on this earth as we speak. Richard and his armies slaughter the Muslims for no other reason than that the god they worship has a different name than his. That is not how Jesus lived, nor is it how he taught. I came here to eradicate these pagans for the blight they caused on the land of God."

Faris listened to Baron von Wolff's story, and he understood now why he was victorious, and not the Templar.

"The children here, the ones in orange…I do not doubt that they are the children of pagan gods…but they are still children of God, as are you, me, and all that walk this earth. It was His will that I struck you down today, as your actions were sin. You slaughtered children, innocents, for no other reason than they were born not from man. You may think your cause noble and righteous, but you are still no different than Richard and Salāḥ ad-Dīn. All three have wrought death for no other reason than you are different than your opponents."

"And what of you, Assassin? You claim I have sinned for my actions here in killing abominations, and that I am no better than the false leaders of this retched war, and yet here you are, bathed in my blood, the blood of my men, and the blood of so many others. Are not a hypocrite then, for your beliefs in us and in yourself?"

"Hypocrite? No, I do not think so. I take the lives of others; that is still sin, and I pray every day for forgiveness. I do not pretend that my work is good, and brings about a lighter tomorrow for mankind, but I know that through my blade, there's a little less darkness in the world."

"A little less darkness? Do you not know of how many on this earth believe you to be the greatest darkness of all, Assassin?"

"I am aware. I know of how many children I've rendered orphans, I know of how much heartbreak I have caused parents, and wives, and husbands. I know of how many sisters and brothers have cursed my existence. I know of the evil that I bring with me wherever I go."

"Then why do you persist, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad? Why continue to fight the Templars? Why do you continue to resist Robert de Sable and his will? Why do you continue to fight for a doomed race of sinners?"

Quoth the Assassin, "Because no one else will."

Baron von Wolff stared at the man that held him from the dirt. He studied the Son of None intently, assessing him, weighing him, judging him. Finally, "Your conviction is strong Faris. I can see why He chose you over me."

The Templar coughed shook as he coughed blood. He looked at Faris again, this time with scared eyes that brimmed with tears that refused to fall. "Do you think I will be accepted, with all that I've done?"

The Son of None gripped the man's hand tightly in reassurance. "Yes," he said firmly, "I believe you will."

Two glistening trails rolled down the Templar's face. "Thank you, Faris."

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The Assassin rose to his feet after closing the eyes of Baron von Wolff.

"I did not meet you before this, but I feel as if I have known you a lifetime. I do not know what it is that your truly sought on this plain, but I hope you have found peace in the afterlife, brother. Rest now, and be free of your worldly pains. Al'ub, wataqbal alaibn alddal bik bi'adhrae mmaftuhatin. Amin."

Faris let his gaze linger a while longer on the fallen Templar, before he moved on. Locating the Sword, he examined the weapon intently for a moment, before he pulled it out of the earth. He put his finger to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later, Roach came galloping to a stop next to him.

Faris mounted his white stallion, and activated his Gift. He did not know how to explain this sight of his, this strange blue-tinted vision that revealed the motives and paths of all those around him, but he thanked God every day for His gift. Finding what he was looking for, Faris charged forward, ignoring the bodies of Templars and children alike.

Pagans though they may be, they were still children of the Lord.

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The Greeks had found refuge on the hill outside of their camp. The younger ones freely cried into the elder siblings' chests, while said siblings had red eyes, haunted faces, and stiff postures. Those who had lost their lovers in the Christian attack found solace in those that were willing to offer it. The impact of the sudden assault had been so devastating, so heart-wrenching, so-so-so… _so_ tragic, that Chiron saw Hunters of Artemis allowing boys to cry into their shoulders.

Even Zoё Nightshade was consoling a boy.

Granted, said boy was a child of not-quite-eleven.

Then the sound of steadily approaching hooves became loud and clear. Demigods rose to their feet, tightly gripping their weapons. Weapons being a loose term seeing as how there wasn't anything more advanced than gardening equipment. Rakes, shovels, hoes, and one young man had managed to find a farming scythe. Bodies went tense as the horse became closer.

Then the animal crested the hill, and there was a small flood of relief.

Sitting upon the white stallion was the man in the white hood, the one that had been there to kill Crusader after Crusader. His bracers and gloves were soaked with red, his hood was drawn, shadowing the top half of his face, a strange wooden thing peeked over his right shoulder, and he was carrying the glowing sword that the Crusader Knight had used to wreak havoc across the Greek camp.

Tension returned full force as questions over what it was that _this one_ wanted. Sensing danger, the younger children all hid behind the orange robes of their elder siblings. Although, the approaching man did not radiate any hostility. Instead, he seemed more like a man entering a library intent on reading every book he could get his hands on.

The man stopped in front of Chiron. "I would like to speak with you alone, centaur. If you are comfortable with that, of course."

The ancient teacher nodded. This was exactly what he wanted, actually. Some private time with the mysterious man in the white robe. Chiron turned around, and began to walk away to where he knew a secluded grove was, and he heard the man's horse begin to follow, but then the suspicious voice of Clio, daughter of Zeus broke in.

"Who are you?"

The man's answer was simple, "A humble stranger searching for answers."

Chiron hushed the girl before she could ask anything else, and directed his attention back to the hooded figure. "Apologies, sir. She has not yet learned the art of tact."

The man waved away the apology. "There is no need for such things, centaur. She has a right to be suspicious of me."

The two men made their way from the children, took a short walk through some trees, and eventually arrived at a small grove, streaks of moonlight coming in from a wide space in the canopy which provided a comfortable amount of illumination for the coming conversation.

Chiron walked forward and turned around to where he could face the man. "What is your name, if I may inquire."

"Umar Sofian."

The corners of Chiron's mouth twitched up. When you've lived as long as he had, seen as much as he had, and done as much as he had done, it became easy to tell when someone was lying. Just like now. Still, Chiron would not fault this stranger for being secretive; clearly, he was a mortal with Clear Sight, which explained why he could see Chiron's horse form, and he also had some very sharpened skills since he could do what an entire camp of demigods couldn't.

"Greetings, Umar Sofian. My name is Chiron."

He could feel the man's raised brow. "As in the teacher of so many Grecian heroes?"

"The very same."

"…I see."

Chiron smiled. He had questions that he wanted answered, but he also had the courtesy to answer 'Umar's' first, seeing that the man had just saved hundreds of lives. "I believe you would like an explanation as to how I exist, and what this place is?"

"The Templar said that this was a gathering place for the children of pagan gods."

"He is not wrong. Tell me, what do you know of the Ancient Greek myths?"

"Much. I used to read about them all the time in my youth."

"What if I told you that they were more than myths?"

"I would ask you to explain further."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Faris looked up. "Am I to assume that the goddess Artemis is looking down upon us now?"

"Most likely," answered Chiron.

"I see…" the Assassin trailed off.

While Faris did consider himself open-minded, he was still digesting this information. The gods from the old Greek legends were alive and real, it seemed. Information like that was not something that could be faked, not even by the most skilled liars, and throughout Chiron's explanation, Faris had his Gift constantly active. The centaur remained constantly blue.

"I trust you have questions for me, then?"

"If you would be willing to answer, yes."

"Ask then, and if I your questions can be answered, I will do so."

Faris watched as Chiron's mind worked on trying to decipher that response. After a moment, it seemed the teacher either came to a conclusion, or decided to give up and move the conversation forward. "Where do you hail from, Umar?"

"The Holy Land."

Faris made sure his tone conveyed the message 'that is all I have to say on this matter.' He was still and Assassin, and the tenants of the Creed still played a factor in his life. In all honesty, he had broken the second tenant: hide in plain sight. He had revealed himself to these Greeks, now he had to make sure he would not go on to compromise the Brotherhood, lest he be forced to break the first tenant, and take the lives of innocents.

Chiron nodded, seemingly undeterred by the short answer. "Judging by your robes, the weapons you carry, and your obvious skill, I would say that you are a high-ranking member of a secret order of a kind. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"I take it you will not tell me the name of this order."

"I will not. It is secret for a reason."

"I understand. I'm curious, what happened to your ring fingers?"

Faris weighed the question, and deemed it appropriate to answer, with details here and there omitted. "Upon initiation into my order, a sacrifice is required to show your commitment. The sacrifice in question is typically the left ring finger; I took it a step further."

Chiron hummed, and adopted a contemplative look as he pondered his next question. Faris waited patiently, and while the centaur had an internal debate over his question, the Assassin had an internal debate over what to do with this sword. He was not about to take this thing to Masyaf, where one enterprising individual would get stupid, or it would get stolen, or time would wear on, the castle would become ruins, and a thief looking for some treasure would get lucky.

He also thought about dropping it in the sea, but the sea was a long trip in any direction, and a lot could happen between Point Here and Point There, and while confident in his abilities, Faris possessed the humility to say that he was not infallible, and things could happen. Besides, with his newfound knowledge over the existence of the pagan gods, Faris was not entirely sure that there wasn't going to be some ancient creature or entity along the depths just waiting for some powerful, mystical artifact to come falling right down in front of them.

Honestly, Faris wasn't exactly certain that Poseidon wouldn't use the sword to wage a war either against man, or against God.

"Umar…are you a religious man?"

Faris cocked his head to the side, already seeing where this was leading. "My mother was a Christian, and my father a Muslim," Chiron's eyes widened—not a typical combination, to be sure, "but she died giving birth to me. My father raised me with a Bible in his hand, so yes, I do believe in the Lord."

"Then…why are you not following in the Crusader's footsteps? We are pagans, false gods and deities. Should you not be striking us down for being heretics and infidels?"

"Why on earth would I do such a thing?"

"Uh…excuse me?"

"It was the same with the Templar," Faris sighed exasperatedly. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, you, me, the children, these pagan deities, and every creature on this planet is a child of God, and he loves us all in equal measure. Do you think that, if God was affronted by the existence of the Greeks gods, he would allow them to continue to live as they do now? As He has seen fit to allow their continued existence, so too shall I. I have no quarrel with you or your people."

Chiron visibly and audibly relaxed. "That is very good to hear, my friend."

The conversation died then, the two men reaching an understanding with one another. They were not enemies, and they had no reason to be. Faris did not see these pagan children as affronts to his God, quite the opposite in fact. Instead, he saw them as examples and proof of his God's love for all living beings. In a religion that condemned the worship of false idols, how great was it, in Faris' mind, to serve a God that allowed these false idols to thrive? To love children that did not ask to be born to these pagans?

In Faris' mind, this was the ultimate proof of his God's unending love.

The Assassin approached the wise teacher, and held out the Sword, the hilt pointed away from him. "Take this. See it as a symbol of peace and a token of trust between a Christian and a Pagan. Keep it safe from the world, and prevent it from falling into the hands of those who would bear ill will towards their fellow man."

Chiron's eyes widened, but he reverently took the sword from Faris anyway. The blade thrummed and glowed in the centaur's hands, and a multitude of strange symbols rapidly fluttered and danced through the air around them, but they quickly faded away, the Sword's glow dying out until it appeared to be just another blade.

The two men, took this to be a good sign.

Faris turned to leave, but a thought stopped him, and he turned his head to look back at teacher, his hood still obscuring his features. "Chiron?"

"Yes, Umar?"

"In my order, we follow a creed which states thus: laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine."

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted? That sounds rather cynical," Chiron observed.

"Perhaps, if it were doctrine, but it is merely an observation of the nature of reality. To say that nothing is true, is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile, and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization. To say that everything is permitted, is to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic."

Chiron gasped, almost inaudibly, but Faris' hearing, tuned to where he could eavesdrop upon an entire conversation in the middle of a crowded market, still heard it. Perhaps the centaur was deeply shocked by the knowledge and wisdom displayed by a mortal man of 23?

"Please, in the coming hardships, and in future generations, teach these children the merits of these words, but do let them go astray. The Creed does not command one to be free as many will think…the Creed commands them to be wise."

Sword in hand, Chiron nodded his head. "You have my word, Umar Sofian."

Before the Assassin departed these lands, he said to the centaur, "My name is Faris Ibn-La'Ahad."

He disappeared into the trees.

Chiron stared at the place he just watched the man vanish. Son of None, huh? The centaur could not place this strange feeling that overcame him. A Christian that accepted the existence of the Greek gods, and did not proclaim them to be enemies and affronts to his God, and did not raise the sword but instead extended it in an offering of peace? Truly, there had never been a stranger man…nor one as wise.

In all his years, Chiron had yet to meet a mortal with such great wisdom.

Sighing to himself, realizing this was probably the first and last time he would ever interact with Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, Chiron briefly reflected on how such a short meeting had imparted such great wisdom, and how it had yielded much faith. The centaur did not know what to make of the Christian pantheon, with their angels and demons, their Jesus and their Devil, and their God, but he knew that if all followers of that religion were as Faris was, the world might've been a better place.

Then again, was the previous wielder of this strange sword not a prime example of the dark side of faith?

Sighing and cursing himself for his cynical views, Chiron returned to what was left of Camp Half-Blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _September 3, 1191_

 _Masyaf_

It took Faris many days and many nights to return to his home. His trip back across Crete had been without issue, luckily, and his trip across the sea to Cyprus was much the same. During his voyages across the water, he half-expected a pagan sea deity to rise and try to either smite him, fight him, or talk to him, in which Faris would stand silently and let the Lord fight such a battle for him, but such there was luckily no such engagement.

The journey across Cyprus to its opposite coast had been much like the one in Crete, easy and without trouble. Procuring a means of travel had not been difficult, but the crew had been less than savory, something Faris found out about three days at sea when he was rudely awakened and almost murdered by the seamen. The battle had been short and sweet, and the sharks were fed well that day.

Unfortunately, now without a crew, Faris had to navigate himself to the Holy Land, pilot an entire ship himself, make sure he didn't starve. Upon making it to land, Faris quickly asked about where he was, and made an even quicker project of determining a route Masyaf from the port. In more unfortunate news, in a sneak attack carried out by a band of Templars, Roach the Horse met his end.

Faris slaughtered the false followers of God, and made his way back to Masyaf on foot.

Upon reaching the village gates, the Assassin immediately noticed many things wrong. One, the massive wooden structures were barely open. Two, the village guards were not present. Three, the air was dank and tainted with a darkness. Four, the sky was a dreary overcast, the sun a barely visible dot behind the clouds. Five, there was disturbing lack of people for this time of day. And finally, all of Faris' instincts screamed danger.

The Assassin carefully made his way through the village. His eyes darted around, scanning rooftops and dark corners for threats and possible ambushes. During his walk, anyone he passed decided it would be a good idea to silently follow him from a safe distance. By the time, Faris reached the fortress gates, he attracted quite the quiet following…and it put him on edge.

Upon entering the fortress, the gates came closing behind him with a bang, which did nothing to soothe Faris' nerves. Furthering his unease was the absence of any Assassins in the courtyard. At this time of day, short of a gale-force storm, there should be sword training being carried out right now. Instead it was empty.

Still ready for an attack, Faris made his way up the slope to the fortress' entrance. Glancing up, he saw the Mentor staring down at him from his study window. Which was really creepy. Ascending the stairs to the Mentor's library, Faris found the black-robed man sitting at his desk, a spherical piece of silver clutched tightly in his hand.

"Ah, Faris. Welcome back, my child. Was your mission a success? Were the Templars dealt with?"

"Yes, Master…what is that in your hand?"

"Oh, this?" Al Mualim toyed with the object, twisting his wrist back and forth. "This is the treasure Malik recovered from Solomon's Temple so many months ago."

Faris hummed, not yet soothed from his uneasiness. "How is my brother?"

"Altaїr? He is fine. In fact, he has changed so much from the last time you have seen him, I doubt you will recognize him!" Al Mualim chuckled. "While I sent you to handle the Templars abroad, I sent your brother to handle the Templars here. He has learned much, my child, and has gained much wisdom, but like it is written: 'He who increaseth knowledge, also increaseth sorrow.'"

"Master?" asked Faris confused.

"Look at this, my child." Al Mualim raised the piece of silver higher. " _This_ is the object with which true knowledge can be gained."

Faris cocked his head to the side. "I do not see anything, Master."

"Yes, I suppose you would not, either. Both of your minds are strong, very strong, but it is of no consequence." Al Mualim raised the Apple of Eden once more after staring into its depths for the duration of his response. "Look at it once more, my child, but this time look…harder."

Faris did so. He stared intently at the silver sphere, and saw nothing-wait. No, there was something. There, in the middle of that carved line. A small golden light, like the one the Sword produced-

Faris' consciousness left him in a flash of golden light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Well I'm happy.**_

 _ **Personally, I think the fight between Faris and the Templar was pretty spot-on for an**_ **Assassin's Creed** _ **boss battle involving a Piece of Eden.**_

 _ **Now, the Templar is not an OC. Points to anyone who can figure just who exactly Baron von Wolff is. Anyway, his Sword of Eden gave him the power to bolster and increase the strength of his soldiers, which is why the Crusaders were able to crush the demigods.**_

 _ **Speaking of, I think the interaction between Faris and Chiron was damned awesome, and I hope y'all like how Faris practices his faith, because it's going to be important later on.**_

 _ **So, a quick recap: Faris saved the Greeks from total destruction, killed a Templar, had a run-in with a Sword of Eden, learned of the pagan gods, imparted great wisdom to Chiron, left the Sword of Eden to Chiron (which is going to be fun later), made it back to the Holy Land in one piece, Roach the Horse died, and now Faris is under the spell of Al Mualim.**_

 _ **I had fun writing this chapter, and I hope y'all had fun reading it.**_

 _ **Be sure to Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	5. The First Life: Brother's End

_The First Life: Brother's End_

 _ **Welcome friends and strangers alike to the final chapter of the First Life Arc. If you've taken the time to read the title, read the last chapter, and play the game, you'll know that Faris is under Al Mualim's control, Altaїr returns to Masyaf to do battle with the Mentor, and the title is foreshadowing at its finest.**_

 _ **I'm a little disappointed, in you, dear readers. None of you said anything on the subject of who Baron von Wolff was, nor was anyone broken up over the death of Roach the Horse. Von Wolff is a character from the WWII anime**_ **First Squad** _ **, and Roach comes from**_ **The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt** _ **. You know, the same horse Geralt rides**_ _ **everywhere**_ _ **.**_

 _ **But anyway, let's get to the tragedy and the plot twist!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't have ownership over AC or PJO

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _September 5, 1191_

 _Two days after Al Mualim enslaved Faris Ibn-La'Ahad_

Altaїr returned to Masyaf, his heart heavy, his resolve strong, his conviction like iron, his blades primed, and his sense of betrayal sharp. His home showed visible signs of taint in the form of the silence, the cold, the sky, and the sun.

Or lack thereof.

Upon entering the gates, Altaїr was accosted by a citizen. In a naïve hope, the Assassin asked if the Templars had been behind this, but the citizen began to spout hypnotized nonsense of Al Mualim. Ending conversation with the man, Altaїr made his way up the slopes to the castle.

Along his way, he met far fewer citizens than what there should have been, and every single one of them loudly proclaimed the praises of Al Mualim, and every single one of them followed Altaїr to the castle. Upon reaching the final bit before the final incline to the gates, the one with the guard tower standing alone next to a few empty vendors, the Master Assassin encountered eight of his brothers.

Using the Sense, or Eagle Vision, as Altaїr liked to call it, he saw that these men bore him nothing more than ill-intent.

True to his conclusion, as he approached a line of four, all of them drew their blades, proclaiming Altaїr to be a heretic, infidel, traitor, and enemy, and shout their loyalty for 'the Master.' Altaїr drew his own sword in return, and, as he cut his own brothers down one by one, his heart repeatedly took each blow for itself.

Once upon a time, the Son of None would've done nothing more than scoff and move on from what he would've considered to be a great burden, and an even greater nuisance. Why did he have to waste his time with these weak-minded fools? Why could these idiots not be of stronger will, so that they might break this spell? Why did _he_ have to spend the energy required to deal with this?

But these were the thoughts of a man that had long since been killed with wisdom, knowledge, and understanding.

As Altaїr finished off the last man, his heart constricted as a flood of Assassins came bearing down on him from in front and from behind. So many brothers, so many innocent lives, and so much senseless death. Still, Altaїr raised his blade in defense, parrying, blocking, strafing, grab-breaking, striking, kicking…and killing. Many days later, Altaїr would lock himself away in a secluded room, and weep for the family that he ended with his own hand.

Perhaps it was fate, but Altaїr did not have the horror of having to kill so many of his brothers, because a hail of throwing knives came from above, taking down three of the warped Assassins, causing the rest to flee. Malik and his had arrived to offer aid.

After a brief meeting with his one-armed brother, Altaїr continued to confront the Mentor, while Malik and his subordinates made haste for the village so that they might contain the thrall threat, hopefully without further bloodshed.

Altaїr entered the fortress, and his actions bore further witness to his metamorphosis from the arrogant ass he was months ago, to the wise man he was now. Standing en masse before the castle entrance was what was most likely the rest of Masyaf's civilian populace. Instead of condemning the people and cutting his way through them, as he would've done months before, Altaїr resolved himself to keep any from befalling any harm, and took great care to gently push his way through the crowd.

Instead of heading up stairs to the Mentor's study, Altaїr recalled how all of the people he had passed on his way up to this nightmare had loudly proclaimed something about 'paradise.' In the Assassin Brotherhood, 'paradise' was what they called the garden at the back of the fortress, so that's where the Eagle headed to first.

And he struck gold.

Altaїr's body seized up, taking a shape that he did not intend to happen. He found that his limbs would not respond to his commands, and that he glowed a dull bronze. Above him, Al Mualim stood on the balcony, the Apple of Eden in his hand. Madness was written on the Mentor's face, and his actions only served to prove that his mind had shattered beyond reasoning. Words were exchanged between student and teacher, before a battle ensued.

As Altaїr dispatched the phantoms that were his previous targets, men who had taught him much, shown him much, and had revealed much, he felt despair worm his way into his body as, in a flash of light, each phantom was revealed to be an Assassin. However, after Altaїr dispatched the last phantom, he found himself restrained once more, and all the bodies gone.

Whether they had truly been real or not did not matter to the Son of None. Whether that had been blood or not did not matter. Whether much time had passed, and the bodies had simply vanished, or where never there at all did not matter. What did matter to Altaїr was the whereabouts of his younger brother, and whether or not Faris had been ensnared by the illusions of Al Mualim.

During this second seizure, more words were exchanged, and Altaїr began to get a grasp on the motives of his former teacher. In a flash of light, Al Mualim was down on the ground, meeting Altaїr's challenge. Once more, the traitor invoked the power of the Apple, creating eight phantoms of himself. Altaїr once more drew his blade, and engaged in battle.

It was the hardest he had fought. The Mentor was strong, wise, and powerful in the gifts of man, and Altaїr was on the receiving end of many, many blows. Still, he defeated Al Mualim, all nine phantoms of the man. One by one they began to fall, and one by one the bodies vanished in little blips of light. Finally, only one more stood, and Altaїr struck him down with great prejudice.

Only to be seized up once more by the power of the Apple.

Many more words were exchanged by the two, and any love Altaїr had for the man before him, any respect he had for the man before him, and hope of redemption he had for the man before him…evaporated. Al Mualim was a traitor. He had betrayed the Creed. Spat on its tenants. And proven himself a hypocrite to everything he had condemned Altaїr for so many weeks ago.

And we would die.

"I will miss you, Altaїr," the Mentor lamented, "you were my very best student."

"What of Faris?" the Eagle snarled. "Was he not better than I? Where is he!?"

Al Mualim smirked. "Ah, yes. Faris. He arrived from his mission two days before you did. I can't help but wonder how differently things would be now if you had returned first, and it was Faris that stood before me now. Alas, since you are so eager to see your brother, allow me to accommodate you, my child."

Just then, a figure came leaping down from above. The figure landed heavily, causing a loud sound upon impact. At best, for any other man, their legs would've been broken. At worst, for any other man, they would've died. But _this_ man, for this man was like Altaїr. They could run for many days, and not be tired. They could fight for the same time, and not become short of breath. They could climb any building, and falter. They could take meetings with many blades, and not fall. They could leap from great heights, and not die.

"Faris…" Altaїr said quietly.

The Horseman moved to stand next to Al Mualim, who smirked slyly. "Yes, your brother. I admit, I was most nervous when I showed him the Piece of Eden. I feared he too would see through the illusion, just as you did, which is why I invoked much power in bringing him to my side."

"Release him!" Altaïr roared. "NOW!"

"Release him?" Al Mualim laughed. "Now that would even more unwise than releasing you. You are strong, Altaïr, stronger than I thought. You've managed to defeat so many men in such a short amount of time, and yet you show no signs of tiring. No, I will not be releasing Faris from my power any time soon. Instead, I have a far better idea…"

The treasure flashed with golden light. Al Mualim had disappeared, Altaïr was no longer restricted, and Faris was bearing down on his brother with sword drawn. The Eagle's blade slide from its sheath, and the weapons of the Assassins met with a mighty ring, and a flash of sparks. Faris drew back, and slashed again, and Altaïr blocked again, and again did sparks fly.

This pattern repeated several times, each meeting resulting in a sonorous of steel. Altaïr's teeth grinded from the force of each blow, and his heart pounded against his chest at what was happening before him. This was a betrayal beyond anything that the Eagle could've imagined.

His own brother, twisted by the evil will of a madman, forced to fight against his will in a battle to the death.

Faris slashed downward, and Altaïr jumped back, causing his little brother to lose balance and over-extend. Altaïr capitalized on this mistake by backhanding Faris across the face, sending the younger man sprawling to the ground. The Eagle was quick to pin him there.

"Stop this, Faris! Can you not feel Al Mualim's taint? Can you not feel his evil influence on you? Please, brother, come back to me!"

Faris' response was a guttural roar, and an amazing display of human strength. He threw Altaïr off of him with a mighty heave, causing the Eagle to roll across the ground before using his momentum to stand. Faris was up just as fast, and was charging, leaving his sword in the dirt. Seeing this, Altaïr discarded his own saber.

Above them, the clouds began to darken with rain, and the first drops began to fall.

When Faris got close enough, he leapt as high as he could go, his body adopting the technique and posture of one committing to a high-profile assassination. With a flex of his hand, Death sprung forth. However, Altaïr was a master of this technique as well, and knew how best to counter its lethality.

His arm snapped up, intercepting his little brother's, while his other arm gripped the bandolier across Faris' chest. Using the airborne Assassin's momentum against him, Altaïr flung the man off behind him, making him crash into the stone wall of Masyaf.

Knowing just how dangerous Faris was, Altaïr bull-rushed his stunned brother, slamming his shoulder into the Horseman's chest, further stunning him, before unleashing a rapid torrent of light jabs to the ribcage. Faris suddenly drew energy, and intercepted Altaïr's arms with his own, catching the lightning fast limbs in his armpits.

Rain fell with a moderate pace now, drenching the brothers, weighing them down with wet clothes.

Faris reared his head back, headbutting his brother in the face twice, before kicking him away. Altaïr stumbled, but was hardly injured. Instead he raised his arm, blocking Faris' attack, then brought that arm down to counter the kick, then used his other arm to block the other punch, then the first arm to block a different punch, then both to block a kick, then one after the other, to defend against a series of quick strikes, before whipping about with his own arms, turning the tide against Faris.

Altaïr engaged in a brutal battle of the fist, using years of hand-to-hand training in a way he never thought he would. Lashing out with his fists, he pushed Faris to the edge, lulling the man into what could almost be called a rhythm, before disrupting the beat with a sudden pivot about the ball of the foot, smacking Faris across the jaw with the heel of his boot.

The force behind the kick sent the Horseman tumbling over the stone railing to the lower part of Masyaf's paradise garden. Altaïr was quick to leap over the stone. He landed with barely a twitch, but the few scant seconds it took to get down here was enough for Faris to disappear.

Altaïr immediately drew his short sword, and adopted a defensive stance. The only sound was that of the falling rain slamming down upon the land. The sheet of grey was enough to limit Altaïr's visibility, enough to the point where he activated his Eagle Vision, and everything changed. Now the rain became a nonfactor as Altaïr could see quite easily now, even with the bluish-grey tint to the world.

Perhaps the most painful part of this battle was that, in his heart, Altaïr knew that he couldn't save Faris from what was done to him. The other Assassins had been proof of that. Their mindless actions, their drone-like mentality, their singular movements and linear fighting patterns…they had been too far gone to try and reason with, just like Faris was now.

In this time of great emotion, Altaïr found himself doing being human, as in he was blaming everyone he could think of beside himself to blame for this travesty. And there was one person that Altaïr blamed more than anyone else. Contrary to popular belief, the Son of None was not a simple atheist, he just hated God with a _burning passion_. It was _God_ that had taken his mother; it was _God_ that had taken his father; and it was _fucking God_ that had allowed his little brother to become a slave whose only hope of salvation was through death.

' _How dare you!'_ Altaïr seethed in his prayer. _'How dare you stand by and let all of this happen. What kind of god are you that you stand idly by while the world destroys itself, while man slaughters each other, and while madmen conduct their schemes!? Who are you, to claim to have absolute power, only to not use it when it's needed most? Who are you to let this happen to my brother!?'_

Lightning flashed above, and its brief illumination provided Altaïr with the knowledge that there was shadow above him, prepared to leap from on high. He instantly went into a roll, and Faris landed harmlessly on the ground. Altaïr heard the sound of breaking metal, just as the thunder clapped, and looked down to see that his brother had just broken his right Hidden Blade on the hard stone.

Seemingly undeterred by this loss, Faris was sprinting full speed at Altaïr with almost reckless abandon, and the Eagle was put on the defensive. Rapidly backpedaling to counter the rapid advance, Altaïr also contended with the onslaught from Faris' arms as he struck out with his fist and his remaining Hidden Blade. Altaïr alternated between his arms as he defended against his brother, using his short sword to counter the Hidden Blade and the occasional punch, while using his free hand to block the fist and the occasional stroke of the Hidden Blade.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Altaïr couldn't help the flashback that tore through his mind.

It was years ago now, just a few weeks after he and Faris broke down their barrier and started acting like brothers. It was during a warm, sunny day, with a light breeze and a few birds. Altaïr and his brother were in this very garden, sparring with wooden staves, practicing their advanced skills with a blade. Woman and older girls watched with interest and amusement. Altaïr had forgotten whether he and his little sibling had been there to show off, relish the attention, or enjoy the fresh air, but he remembered having fun, and enjoying the time he was spending with Faris.

Now, however, in the present, the sky was dark, the wind was cold, the pouring rain even colder, and no birds sang, but the rapid clashing of steel created a melody louder than any creature of flight would ever produce.

Altaïr had made out the pattern in his brother's assault, and was going to initiate a counter attack this very move, but Faris was expecting this. In the next stroke of his Hidden Blade, a stroke that was almost parried, he altered his wrist, therefore altering his trajectory, and the two blade became locked. Faris was quick to bring his free hand to Altaïr's wrist, and Altaïr was just as swift in bringing his own free hand to tightly grasp that of his brother's.

The two held that deadlocked position for several moments, glaring at each other from the confines of their beaked hoods. Then Faris' leg snapped out, causing Altaïr to grunt as his wind was knocked from him, and the Faris' whipped his upper body around, and viciously headbutted his brother, dazing him and sending him tumbling backward. Woozy as he now was, Altaïr was grudgingly helpless as his brother approached him for an attack.

Faris' face was set in a hard snarl as he got within two feet of his big brother. He could've killed him; easily. A stroke of the Hidden Blade, a slash of the short sword, a toss of a throwing knife, a shot from the crossbow, even the more brutal fashion of neck-snapping. Instead, Faris raised his arms above his head, and snapped them down in tandem with a Sparta kick that had such force behind it that he kicked Altaïr _through_ the stone wall of Masyaf, and into the chamber beyond.

Granted, the aforementioned wall was old and crumbling, and was slated to be repaired by masons soon, but still. Through the wall.

Altaïr coughed blood onto himself from his spot on the ground. His breaths came out in short wheezes, and each intake caused searing pain to blossom in his chest. He had broken several ribs, that was for sure, he had internal bleeding, and his back wasn't feeling to hot either. Wait, no. His back was on fire, so he probably had several torn muscles, and/or spinal damage. Being kicked through a wall was not an easy task for the body to endure.

Altaïr cracked his eyes open, and he groaned at what he saw. He knew this room well, nor from personal interest, but because this was where Faris spent almost all of his free time. A small chamber, with a few rows of pews, a podium-which Altaïr had been kicked into-and an altar behind said podium. Sitting upon this altar were several candles, but there was only one that burned, and sitting above this candle, a safe distance from the small flame, was a wooden crucifix complete with a carving of Jesus himself. Next to the candle, an old Bible sat resolute and strong.

Altaïr hated this room more than anything in the world. Still, despite his growing fury at being in here, so many memories exploded through his head. Memories of finding Faris in here, so much younger, on his knees before the crucifix, hands clasped. Memories of Faris sitting on a pew, reading the Bible. Memories of Faris talking to an older member of the Older, gaining wisdom and knowledge. Memories of Faris talking to members of the Order just a few years his junior or senior, instructing them and guiding them in the ways of the Word.

" _What are you doing?" Altaïr asked snidely as he watched his little brother, about twelve now, kneel before the altar._

" _Praying, obviously," came the clipped response._

 _Altaïr snorted. "You seriously believe that there's anyone listening?"_

" _Yes. God."_

" _When will you stop believing in fairy tales and bedtime stories, idiot brother of mine?"_

 _Faris just smiled from his spot in front of the cross. "You may not believe in Him, Altaïr, but He believes in you."_

 _The Assassin-in-training just scoffed, and left without a further vocalization._

With much pain and even greater effort, Altaïr reached above him, grabbed the altar's edge, and began to haul himself up. His ribs screamed in protest, causing his vision to fade in and out, but through sheer force of will, the Eagle stood. He managed to turn around, bracing himself against the altar, and he coughed. Blood splattered upon the Bible, and the candle flickered.

Raising his head, Altaïr glared at the wooden carving of Christ.

"Listen to me, and listen well you bastard," spoke the Assassin through grit, crimson teeth. "I do not care what happens to me, or to my soul, but you better be damned _sure_ that I will destroy you if you do not listen to this prayer.

" _I_ have no faith in you, but Faris _does_. Every day he tortures himself trying to live like you, while leading _this_ life. Now his mind has been taken by the traitor, and the only way to get it back is to…is to…you _know_ what must be done. I'm talking to this wooden thing for one purpose: I want you to save my little brother. He's given everything he has to you already, it's time you started giving something back."

The crucifix did not respond, but the way the candle light flickered across its wooden features almost made the carving seem to have an expression.

Lightning flashed outside, causing a shadow to flicker across the chamber's walls. Altaïr painstakingly turned around to see Faris standing there, wreathed in rain. With his hood up, his entire face wa shrouded in darkness. With a SNIKT, the Horseman's Hidden Blade extended in all its anonymous glory.

Altaïr's soul winced in pain. "Please, Faris. Don't make me do this…"

Faris did not respond verbally, but by running at his brother.

Altaïr gripped the candle behind him, and flung it at Faris. It was a pitiful distraction, but it was one that worked all the same. Faris responded to the projectile with sheer reflex, reflex born from years of training, and sliced the candle out of the air. Altaïr stabbed his brother with his Hidden Blade, right through the heart.

Everything became still.

Faris' hood fell down, exposing his face. He was wide-eyed and shocked. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. "Al…ta…їr…?"

The Eagle trembled. "F-Faris."

The world became blue, little symbols of white flickering about.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The elder sibling held his younger in his arms, the same way he had held so many others.

"We were betrayed, big brother," Faris said softly, a large and growing stain of red upon his robes.

"Yes, we were," Altaïr said, audibly trying to keep himself together.

"Don't hate him brother, he's only a man, and all men do bad things. Just make sure you don't make him suffer."

"No, no, no, no, _no_. Come on, do not speak with such a tone. You're going to be fine, Faris. A few moments of rest and you'll be healed. Then we will deal with Al Mualim. Together."

Faris smiled, a weak sight that made Altaïr's heart buckle and crumble. A few abominable tears hit Faris' pale cheek. "No, I…I don't think it's going to happen like that, big brother."

Altaïr tried to managed a reassuring smile. "Of course it will. You just have to have a little faith is all. Just take a few moments to pray, and God will heal you."

"Oh, so _now_ you believe."

"Y-Yes, I believe," Altaïr's voice cracked, "I believe that if you shut up and pray to God, you'll be ready to help me fight Al Mualim."

"You telling me to pray I such a strange thing to hear, but since you're so insistent…Lord, thank you for all that I have in life. Thank you for my brother, thank you for my Order, and thank you for the opportunity to learn of Your son, and to live like him."

Altaïr's tears fell more frequently as his lower lip trembled dangerously.

"I think you're calling me home now, which means a lot of things. Please help my brothers continue to obey the Creed, and guide them down the right path. Be with the Crusaders and Saracens during this dark time, and show them that they are both in the wrong. Be with all mankind as they struggle and fall, tumble and rise through life, and help them to see You for who You are. And please, be with Altaïr as he brings justice to Al Mualim, and be there for him when I cannot anymore. Amen."

Despite his fading life, Faris never once stuttered or fumbled with his prayer, and each word came as strong as the one before it. Altaïr was becoming an emotional wreck as his brother prayed his last in his own arms. Whose fault was it that this was happening? His own.

"It's okay, Altaïr, it's okay. I'm going to see Mother and Father now." Any second now, Altaïr's splintering barriers would be swept away in a flood of grief, anguish, fury, rage, and sorrow.

"Hey, Big Brother?"

"Y-Y-Yes, F-Faris?"

The younger sibling smiled broadly, smiling so wide his eyes closed, grinning so extravagantly all of his vermillion-stained teeth were showing, beaming with such happiness that he seemed to glow. "I'll wait for you, 'kay?"

Then Faris went very still.

Altaïr went numb for a moment, his eyes going wide, his jaw falling slack, and his heart stagnating on a beat. The rain outside seemed to stop falling, the candle seemed to stop flickering, and all the world seemed to stop turning. Altaïr found himself standing before Al Mualim, bound once more by the Apple of Eden.

In his fracturing state, the Eagle felt a surge of relief at realizing that the battle had just been another phantom, another falsity, just another illusion…but there was much evidence to the contrary. His and Faris' sabers were over there, the broken Hidden Blade was over there, the wall to the prayer chamber was broken, and Faris laid still just a few feet away, his body still in a pool of blood.

Altaïr's hand was wet and warm with a life fluid that was not his.

"My goodness," Al Mualim gasped. "I did not think you would actually-"

Altaïr's mind fractured. "RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

His howl of anguish and rage, sorrow and anger, despair and fury, shook the whole of the land. Masyaf castle trembled, the village shook, the mountains vibrated, the heavens roiled, and all that could hear stopped and listened as a great Beast emerged from a deep slumber, and found all that it held dear destroyed.

Altaïr screamed again, and Al Mualim increased the power of the Apple, power that was not enough to contain the emotion of the Son of None. Altaïr violently thrashed about, fighting the power of the Apple with such an intensity that the Mentor found his control waning. In a harsh gust of wind, Altaïr's hood came down, and his face was revealed.

Due to the Apple's hold on him, his body was wreathed in a golden glow. Due to the Apple's hold on him, Altaïr's eyes glowed with golden light.

Altaïr's great fury fueled him…and he _stepped forward_. Light pulsed around the Assassin as his body moved, and his foot came down upon the earth with such wrath that it splintered beneath him. Al Mualim paled. More light pulsed around Altaïr as he took another step closer, the ground once more yielding to his anger.

High winds began to pick up, and beams of bright light began to emit from Altaïr's form, light that whipped and snarled at everything that it could, and yet not a thing was damaged. Light pulsed from Altaïr once more as he gained and cracked more ground.

He seethed and snarled and raged and grunted and growled like an animal, bearing down on the stunned and shocked with all the vengeance and fury of a god. In addition to the screeching wind and the beams of light, lightning began to dance and twist about the skies above. Altaïr stepped again with another pulse of angry luminance, and another abrasion upon the land.

Al Mualim's sword dropped from his grip, his eyes twitching and dilating within their sockets. His hand, the one holding the Apple, was burning and smoking as the artifact glowed brighter and heated up, melting the bones together, but the Mentor was not aware of such things. For one, the nerves were dead, so there weren't any signals being sent to his brain, and for two, he was far too concerned with more pressing matters.

Altaïr took one more step, the ground cratering beneath him in a pulse of light. The shrieking winds reached a crescendo, their power ripping up a tree and sending it hurling into the valley. The lightning bolts roiled and trembled, their sister the thunder furiously banging upon the earth. The light surrounding Altaïr began to bend and take a shape, a shape like the wings of a holy angel.

Al Mualim's irises perfectly reflected the divine image before him.

And then there was a blade in his throat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Faris recognized this place. This big, blue, beautiful place with the warmth and the soft glow beyond. He remembered that simple gate, and the robed man that stood before it. Faris approached.

"Is it my time now?"

The robed man smiled, and it was that same sad smile from months before. "No, not yet. You have done well, child, but the Lord still has so much for you to do."

"Then…I am to return to my brother?" Faris asked, the hope in his voice thinly shrouded.

The man's smile managed to turn even sadder. "You are a special soul, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. No, you will not be returning to the side of Altaïr. Instead, a part of you will be sent far away, while the rest of you journeys onward into the future."

"A part of me…the rest of me…the future…wha?" Faris floundered and chopped his words, unable to form a coherent sentence, but a string of thought prompted full cohesion. "But I promised Altaïr I would…that I would…"

"I know," spoke the robed man calmly, "but the Lord has work for you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Once it is done, you will be allowed into these gates, but until that time comes…"

Faris was human in that he could harbor hatred for anything, or for anyone, and that included God. He bore sin within him, just as all man did, and just like a child that was told he could not do something, Faris felt a spark of ire at the robed told him, ire aimed at the Lord.

However, just as soon as these thoughts came, so did were they banished. Who was he to question the motives of God? Who was he to question the Creator? Who was he to call out the Lord? He was a mere disciple, one that was strong in faith, understanding, and love. If He said that Faris would be allowed into Heaven when his work was completed, then he would be allowed, simple as that. But until that time came, the Horseman would serve his Lord dutifully, faithfully, with unshakable resolve, and with unquestionable faith.

For that was the Creed of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad.

"What does the Lord require of me?"

The robed man smiled serenely. "Go forth, child, and remember that the LORD your God is always with you, no matter whom you are birthed to."

Faris had to time to ponder on this, before he knew no more of this life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _August, 2005_

 _New York_

"PERCY JACKSON!"

Said boy startled awake with a violent shudder, one that borderlined a convulsion. He cracked his eyes open, vision blurred and senses dulled. All sound came to him muffled, as if under water. His body was sore, as if it was the day after an intense workout, and he was racked with phantom pain. Namely, as if he had been stabbed in the heart.

Had that been a dream? Just the phantasms brought forth by an overactive imagination? Faris… Altaïr…Assassins…Templars…Percy didn't know what to make of this, but it was all far too vivid, far too clear, far too _real_ to be dismissed as simple fantasy.

Then, as someone pulled a blindfold away, Percy's senses and awareness snapped back into reality, and he remembered what was going on. He was in history class of the twelfth day of school of his sixth year, the teacher was an ass of an old man named Mr. Bennet who seemed to have personal issues with Percy, Percy's only friend (a loosely used term, for sure) was an acne-riddled cripple named Grover Underwood, who gravitated toward Percy like the two were a couple of protons and electrons. The year was two-thousand-and-four, the month August, the day the thirtieth.

So much and more came back to Percy's mind, and while the massive pile was chaotic and confusing, it was like the amalgamation of memories and events was content to stay condensed in a small corner of his mind until he was alone and could begin to process and understand that amazingly life-like dream.

Then Percy realized that the old man was talking to him.

"Since you so transparently have such a potent conception on the intrinsic idiosyncrasies that revolve so delicately around the subject of the Third Crusade, perhaps you could grace us all with your superior repertoire of particulars regarding the Nizari Ismailis."

Percy stared at the man, wondering if he even knew what he had just said, because clearly everyone else didn't. However, strangely enough to Percy, who was notoriously slow in academics due to his ADHD and dyslexia, he followed the man well enough, and gleaned that Bennet wanted him to tell the class about the Nizari Ismailis.

To tell the class about the Assassins of the Third Crusade.

The grin on Percy's face sent shivers down Mr. Bennet's back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **So concludes the First Life arc with a finale that I personally thought rocked ten kinds of balls, although I do believe there will be others who disagree.**_

 _ **If you're confused on what happened, I'll explain. Percy's full, real soul, is in the past. It was all contained within the body of Faris. Now that Faris had passed, the memories, experiences, and other stuffs of his have gone to the future, to meld and merge with the fake soul occupying the present-day body of Percy Jackson. Just think of it as time moves in parallels, and move on.**_

 _ **Now, in regards to the Second Life arc, I have a plan. The plan is to spend time in the present, write as present-day Percy adjusts to this influx of memories, and attempts to discover himself, because waking up in the middle of class after dreaming of two decades and remembering all of it is a very disorienting experience. Then we're going to get to canon, which is going to be ten different kinds of fun, and Percy coming into contact with last chapter's Sword of Eden will trigger the Second Life arc.**_

 _ **So think of the coming chapters as crucial filler.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and let's get to 100 reviews with this chapter!**_


	6. What is the Truth?

_What is the Truth?_

 _ **Alright, so we are back with the story of Perseus Jackson, Assassin extraordinaire and resident identity crisis case. This chapter will be one of the filler chapters between the First Life arc, and the start of canon, in which Percy struggles to make sense of that long, really vivid dream he just had.**_

 _ **And my dad surprised me a few nights ago with the**_ **Assassin's Creed** _ **movie. All I have to say is fuck the critics. That move rocked, and I didn't think Magneto could pull off being someone who works in the dark to serve the light. I was impressed, brought out my inner fanboy to satisfy my father's questions, and can't wait for a sequel.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy Jackson had never felt right in his body. He couldn't explain it, and he doubted he ever would, but he just didn't feel… _right_. He felt uncomfortable all the time, he felt strange all the time, and he felt like everything he did wouldn't matter. As if he could launch a nuclear holocaust and the planet would be fried, torched, boiled and incinerated, but all it would amount to in the end is 'eh.'

Strange and dark thoughts indeed.

Then there was his home life, or lack thereof. Percy loved Sally Jackson, dearly, she was his mother for crying out loud, but he always felt… _adopted_. It was wrong, he knew it was, because there were baby pictures of him, home videos of him, and memories stretching back as far as he could remember of Sally, so he knew that the woman was his mother, but at the same time…he felt like a placeholder for someone else. Like Sally's _real_ child would walk in some day and he would be swept under the rug and forgotten.

Stranger and darker thoughts indeed.

Percy hadn't told _anyone_ about his feelings. Not his mother, not his teachers, not his classmates, and certainly not Smelly Gabe. Instead, Percy mostly kept to himself, not really talking much out of the fear that his fears would come spilling out, and a series of events would take place that would only end in a bad way. Because of this anti-social behavior, Percy didn't really have friends, he wasn't much of a talker, he spent most of his time in doors, out of the sun, and away from others.

This lifestyle had left him thin and wiry, with enough stock on him to not be girlish, but not enough to be masculine, with skin that was tan yet seemed like it was trying to turn pale, a messy mop of hair that breached his eyebrows, threatening to spill over his eyes themselves. Speaking of his eyes, they were big and round, the result of drinking monumental amounts of water every day. While Percy would forever deny looking feminine, and would go to great lengths to prove otherwise (such as break noses), he had been on the receiving end of more than his fair share of jeers from other children.

One particular brute from his youth had made it a point to repeatedly call him 'Prissy' and always use female pronouns to refer to Percy. At least, until the bully got too close one day, and Percy lashed out with all the speed and venom of an angry cobra, and broke the boy's nose like a ceramic pot. While satisfying in the long run, the amount of trouble he had gotten in that day was annoying.

Yes, _annoying_. Not scary, not heart-pounding, not memorable, not lesson-teaching, but _annoying_. The principle harping at him, the boy's parents harping at him, his own mother harping at him, the other kids whispering behind his back. All _annoying_. Didn't they realize that whatever they did was pointless, and they were all nothing but amoebas in the endless universe that continued to function without paying them any heed? Couldn't they see the great tragedy of the human race in that no matter what they accomplished in life, it meant nothing when they died and their bones turned to dust?

These were the strangest and darkest thoughts that floated through young Percy Jackson's head, until today.

Until he had that dream.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was nighttime now, nighttime of the same day Percy dreamt of the complete life of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Since this was a private school, one by the name of Yancy Academy, that meant that the students got their very own dorms, complete with roommates. Co-ed notwithstanding.

Percy was roomed with Grover Underwood, the acne-ridden cripple with clinginess problems. The boy personal had no real problem with Grover, aside from the fact that the kid talked too much, always wanted to be next to him, and was always asking about Percy's food before he could even take a bite out of it.

While Grover was typically quiet during the curfew hours, electing to study to himself, plug in his earphones, or read something, but tonight he decided to be especially chatty. Especially when Percy needed silence to try and think about why he felt like splitting his head open with a rock.

As Percy desperately tried sifting through the sights of dead bodies, Arabic texts, swaths of men in white hoods, the smells of a pollution-free air, green countryside, crisp mountain winds, the sea breeze, dirty cities, and the sensations of running, climbing, fighting, being stabbed, slashed, and cut, Grover's constant barding of the day's events, from first period to last and everything in between, was both vexatious and infuriating.

And Percy's frustrations overwhelmed him as he rounded on the cripple, eyes blazing with barely contained wrath. "Will you _please_ take your blabbering self away from me, and bother someone else before I murder you?"

Something that Percy had noted since that dream was that his word range and use had increased.

Grover instantly adopted the look of a deer in the headlights, hurt flashing across his face, before he mumbled a quick apology and darted out the room to parts Percy didn't care about. Was that a bit mean? Yeah. Did the thin boy care? Nope.

Percy got up from his bed, and promptly shut the door to his dorm, since Grover had not in his haste. Now blessed with this newfound peace and quiet, Percy returned to comfort of his rather bouncy bed, and sat cross-legged on top of the covers, clad in only his pajama bottoms…which did not help his case of not being feminine as his shirtless torso blatantly displayed his thinness.

Okay, from the top.

Faris Ibn-La'Ahad was a member of the Assassin Brotherhood, an organization of highly skilled killers and infiltrators. He was the younger brother of Altaïr, and the son of Umar and Maud. Faris was smart, strong, faithful, brilliant, and valiant, with a respect for the Creed that few had. While he had been on many missions in which he killed many people, there was one that stood out above the rest.

A mission to the island of Crete, in which there was a Templar by the name of Baron von Wolff that wielded a strange, golden, magical sword, a white centaur by the name of Chiron, and a lengthy explanation on the existence of Greek gods. The mission ended with Faris giving Chiron the magical sword, and revealing the wisdom of the Creed to the centaur.

Then Faris returned to the Holy Land, spent a seriously long time traveling to Masyaf on foot after his horse died in a Templar ambush. After arriving, he was put under some kind of mind control via a glowy silver baseball, and then forced to fight Altaïr in a literal battle to the death. Percy was surprised he didn't wake up crying, because that was one of the saddest things he had ever seen.

Percy accepted Faris' life, the Assassins, and the Templars as _fact_. Percy did not dispute those things. What his mind began to hurt over was when he denied that the Templar's sword, Chiron the centaur, and the existence of the Greeks. In fact, his head began to hurt so much over this denial, that Percy literally wanted to curl into a small ball and cry his eyes out in agony.

Therefore, the Jackson boy shifted focus away from the events of the past, and moved on to the other thoughts.

Percy had never been to a church. For whatever reason, his mother had just never taken him to one. He had never sat in a pew, never listened to a sermon, and never attended a Sunday school. Hell, he hadn't even peeked inside of a Bible. Hmmm, now that he thought about it, he got the distinct impression that his mother _avoided_ the church and all things related to it.

Now, though, after seeing the life of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, Percy found that he could quote scripture, recall entire verses, recount entire chapters of the Bible in a summarized form, and remember nearly all of the Book of Proverbs. Beyond that, Percy felt a strong desire to own a Bible, which was strange seeing as how he had never had any desire to get into the faith before.

Percy resolved himself to find a Bible, if only because thinking of having one didn't give him a migraine.

Another thing, silly as it was, was Percy's sudden having of ring fingers. Now, he had had his ring fingers since the day he was born, and had had them ever since, since his mother's fond stories of how he used to gnaw on them when he was teething were not lies. Yet, after waking up from that dream, such digits felt foreign to him, and he wiggled them about, he felt so strange.

Strange as in he needed to get rid of them to be back to a normal state of body.

Which wasn't going to happen. Period.

Thoughts of his fingers lead Percy to recall the Hidden Blades that he had kept on his person at all times for almost ten years. Wait, what? Percy shook his head to derail himself from those thoughts. He was _not_ Faris, and he was _not_ an Assassin. Thoughts like that had plagued him all day.

Anyway, back on the topic of the Hidden Blades. Percy's childishness shown strong and true when _this_ was opinion of the weapons: he thought they were cool. So cool, in fact, that he was very strong in his belief that he was going to make some. The scariest part was that Percy remembered the construction of the Blades, how to care for them, how to repair them, and how to use them.

Considering this was a private school with a fully stocked welding and woodshop class, building those little instruments of death would be easy.

The problem was making them in such a way that did not require his ring fingers to be cut off.

Hmmm, well, considering he had designed, built, and used the very first crossbow _ever_ , Percy felt confident in his abilities to design a new version of the Hidden Blades that wouldn't cut his fingers off upon flicking them open. Wait...uhhhg. He had done it again, he had thought of himself as the crossbow creator, when it was _Faris_ that had made it. Faris. Faris. Faris. Faris. _Faris_.

He was _not_ Faris.

Denying the Greeks and such made Percy's head hurt, but thinking of himself in Faris' place annoyed him. However, there was something about Faris that made Percy jealous, and that was the Assassin's body...that sounded gay. No, what made Percy green when thinking of the man was his strength, stamina, speed, durability, flexibility, climbing prowess, and fighting prowess.

Percy was built like a stick. His frame was so thin he was made of for looking like a girl. He also was not athletic beyond the average person. His way of thinking about himself being in the wrong skin had led to a life of introversion and nonactiveness, which left him as thin and borderline frail as he was now, and with a stamina that was so low he probably couldn't run up a flight of stairs without dying.

There was a reason Percy always sat alone on the bleachers during gym class.

However, if Percy wanted a body like Faris', there was only one thing he could do.

So, as the Jackson boy hit the floor, and started burning through as many pushups as he could get through before his arms got tired and he moved on to do as many sit ups as he could through before his abs got tired and he moved on to do as many squats as he could get through before his legs got tired and he moved on to something else, he did a quick recap: his head hurt when denying the Greek stuff, he thought of himself as Faris, he wanted a Bible, he was going to visit the welding shop to make a Hidden Blade after he made a non-finger-sensitive design, and he was going to whip himself into such a great shape that people would never mistake him for a girl again.

As Percy's arms began to feel like lead, and doubts of going through with this began to fill his mind, he strengthened his resolve with something he had never used before: prayer.

"God," he panted, "give me strength."

It would be later that he realized he said this in perfect Arabic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy, days after that fateful dream, was doing something he rarely did: he was skipping class. Now, for someone who had the cynical view that all things done were pointless and meaningless, skipping class shouldn't have made Percy so jittery with those annoying butterflies. Wait, perhaps it wasn't the skipping part that had Percy so nervous, but _why_ he was going to skip class.

He was going for a run.

He had done many squats, pushups, and sit ups, and his body showed it too, with his more defined arms, cut-out abs, and slightly more built legs, but there was a lot more to the art of parkour than having a strong body. One must also have high stamina, and running laps in the gym only did so much.

There was a nearby park that had the most convenient jogging track, which was next to the most convenient construction site. A daunting task, indeed, but Percy was going to try something new today: he was going to try some faith. As one that hadn't been much for religion in the first place, Percy felt that this was a big thing for him, to pray.

To _seriously_ pray.

Percy began his run, weaving through the crowded and bustling streets of New York. No one paid a lick of attention to the kid in the faded jeans, the tattered sneakers, and the white hoodie as he darted through the crowd. This was Manhattan for Christ's sake. Everyone had far more important things to do that worry about a street urchin.

Percy made it the park within ten minutes of running, and when on foot, ten minutes was a long time. He arrived, panting and out of breath, all clear indicators of being supremely out of shape. That was okay though; that was why Percy was here, after all. Sucking in his wind, Percy took off once more, this time with less people to dodge.

Of course, there were still people walking, biking, skating, running, jogging, and taking their pets out, but still not near as many as there were on the streets. So Percy pushed himself, running himself ragged as he did his three laps around the jogging track that was surrounded by nature. Upon the final lap, Percy was more out of breath than when he arrived.

That was okay too, because that was why Percy was here.

Still, panting as he was, the Jackson boy staggered his way over to a bench, and sat upon it to catch his breath. As his heart slowed and his lungs steadied, Percy took the time to watch people, only, he didn't watch them just because he was engaging in people-watching. He was watching them like an Assassin.

He noticed things about them that he wouldn't have noticed before, not before his dream. Like how that woman hid a limp very well. Like how that man frequently snuck glances at other females, namely, the ones in tights. Like how that woman continued to discreetly fidget, wiggling her bottom around in synch with the man pushing a button on some device, a strange smirk on his face. Or how that child over there was sneaking people's wallets out of their pockets, taking a few bills, then putting the wallets back.

All these things and more did Perseus see, and he became so engrossed in his observations that he failed to notice his breathing and heartrate become normal, and he also failed to notice the person sitting next to him on the bench until he turned his head around.

Percy hid his surprise well upon seeing the woman with auburn hair nose-deep in a newspaper, her eyes hidden behind the front page. Percy looked at the displayed text, but his ever-present dyslexia made reading the little black letters impossible, so he gave up on the endeavor. Now realizing that he had recuperated, Percy stood to make his way to the construction area, but he was accosted by the woman.

"Shouldn't you be in school, young man?"

Percy's immediate retort was going to be 'shouldn't you be at work?' or 'none of your business' or 'don't worry about it' but then he stopped. This woman cared enough to stop him from going off, who was to say she wouldn't care enough to call the police and have him arrested for truancy and then hauled back to Yancy Academy, and given detention, ISS, and/or suspended…which would be annoying.

Running off would be stupid, since the woman could still call the police and tell them to be on the lookout for a little boy in jeans and a hoodie playing hooky. Then the words popped into his head, and, with his newfound faith, Percy briefly thanked the Lord.

He turned around and faced the woman with a kind smile. "Yes ma'am. I woke up a little late this morning and missed my bus. I'm on my there now."

The woman, not looking up from her newspaper, hummed. "Shouldn't one of your parents have taken you to school, then?"

"I've never met my father, ma'am, and my mother doesn't have a license. She prefers a taxi."

"And why haven't you taken a taxi to your school?"

"I don't have the money for such a thing, ma'am, and I don't really like taxis. They smell bad, and I'm not comfortable being alone with strangers."

The woman nodded. "I see. I confess that I myself am not a fan of taxis."

Percy half-expected this nosy woman to stand up, grab him by the hand, ask if he needed to go potty real fast, before leading him back to Yancy Academy. However, the woman did not perform such an action, and instead opted for turning the page of her newspaper without a word. Sensing that this conversation was now over, Percy made for the construction site.

But the woman called out to him once more before he could finish taking a single step.

"Yes, ma'am?"

This time, the woman lowered her newspaper, revealing single silver eye that held an unnatural gleam to it, and it made Percy scared. "Be sure you return school now, young man, or you may find yourself waking up…different."

Valiantly trying (and failing) to suppress a shudder at the steely tone and the strange threat, Percy offered a stuttered yes ma'am, before racing back for Yancy Academy at a speed that had eluded him during his travel here.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Artemis watched her retreating cousin with a critical eye. Of course she knew of Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon. As the Goddess of Childbirth, she was aware of _every_ demigod birth world-wide, at least, the Greco-Roman ones, and the birthing of a Big Three child was not one that was easy to hide from her divine domain.

While she didn't care much for the boy, not enough to watch him for any length of time, since he was just a half-blood that would live another tragic life, probably bed multiple women, die, may or may not be remembered, and then most likely enjoy eternity in Elysium, there was something…different…about this one. He did not have the happy, easy-going air about him that most sea-children did, but one more befitting that of a Hades-child.

Artemis had actually just been walking through this park and enjoying nature when she felt the little boy's aura pop up in her sensory range, and having nothing better to do, she investigated. What she saw robbed her of her breath, for his face, that soft, near-angelic little face, reminded her far too strongly of a person she had met during the French Revolution, a person that had managed to draw the attention of Zoё Nightshade.

Artemis' first thought was that the Frenchie was going through reincarnation, and Perseus Jackson was one of those incarnations, and it was just coincidental that his face and the Frenchie's face were so similar, but Artemis dashed that thought. Mortals could not reincarnate as demigods.

Bu then again, the Moon Goddess had read the boy's mind. Strangely, much of it was blocked from her, but there was enough open that she gleaned the knowledge that the child intended to climb the nearby construction site to its peak. And so Artemis intervened. While she knew that Perseus would undoubtedly heed her warning and return to Yancy Academy, with his demigod instincts telling him to obey the words of a goddess, she did not know what she would turn him into.

A jackelope was her first thought, then a deer, then a wolf, and even turning him into a girl crossed her mind, but those were simply musing for something that wouldn't ever happen. Then again, who knows? Maybe the boy would do something that would require punishment, or would come seeking something like so many other mortals, or maybe Artemis would transform him into something anyway, just to satisfy her own boredom.

However, there was one thing the Moon Goddess knew for sure…

She could not yet let her Lieutenant and this child meet, for his face would bring about hard questions and bad memories.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Days began to turn into weeks, and weeks began to turn into months for the unknown demigod. His many nights of many exercises left him in a shape that drew many stares from both genders. The boys stared at him in jealousy for his toned body, and the girls stared at him because they were beginning puberty and their minds and bodies were beginning to take notice of such things like the male physique.

Percy had skipped more classes throughout the semester, building his stamina and running/climbing ability. His efforts bore great fruit, as he could free-run in ways only seen on YouTube videos, video games, and action movies, since his newfound muscular strength could propel forward and up with great prowess. This prowess also showed in gym class when Percy completely aced any and all things the idiot teacher could devise.

Strangely enough, Percy had never gotten in trouble for his absences. Why this was, the boy did not know, but Grover seemed tired, worn out, stressed out, and pale, as if he put himself through great stress for an unknown reason. Speaking of Grover, Percy had apologized for his outburst so long ago, and had made up with the cripple. Grover was visibly relieved.

The relationship between the boys continued as is, with Percy keeping Grover at arm's length, and Grover trying to become better friends with Percy, an act which the boy was not overly fond of. However, there was this one memorable night.

" _What are you reading?" asked the cripple._

" _Most people call it a Bible."_

 _A minute widening of the eyes, before confusion settled in place. "I thought you were dyslexic?"_

" _I am."_

" _Then how-?"_

" _No idea, honestly. One day I decided to pop this open, and the words didn't bounce around everywhere. Since this is apparently the only book I can read, I figured 'why not read all of it?' and so here I am."_

" _Oh. Is it any good?"_

" _It's the Bible, Grover."_

" _I've never read the Bible…I didn't know you were religious."_

" _I am now."_

 _Grover paled as if he pooped his pants._

Moving on from that, Percy had completed his new plans for an upgraded Hidden Blade some time ago, and had snuck into Yancy Academy's welding and wood shop departments, and away with the materials and tools that he needed. Admittedly, it was shoddy work, but for what was on hand, Percy thought his new toys were cool. Of course, seeing as how knives and blades were prohibited on campus grounds, Percy was not dumb enough to build his toys to be compatible with actual knives, but instead extended two very sharp No. 2 pencils with a mere flick of the wrist, and retracted with the relaxation of said wrist.

So, to recap, Percy had acquired a Bible, had made his body fit enough to not be mistaken, whether in jest or by honest misunderstanding, for a girl, and had completed construction on his technical Hidden Blades. His head still hurt when he denied the Greek stuff gleaned from the memories of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, and he still sometimes mistakenly referred to himself as Faris, but other than those two things, Percy felt highly accomplished with himself.

And to test both his newfound faith and his body, the Jackson boy was going through with what he had wanted to do on that day when he met that strange woman: climb the in-construction skyscraper.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _December 21, 2005_

 _Manhattan, New York_

Observing the site yielded information that climbing up from the outside would be damn-near impossible, but there was a service elevator. At this time of night, the site was closed and the workers all at home. There wasn't even a skeleton crew present to keep watch and provide security, and avoiding the few present cameras was easy for Percy.

So, a quick elevator ride later, the boy was stepping off and moving the gates out of his way. His heart beat loud in his chest, and his entire body was flooded with adrenaline. If he wanted to turn back, this was the time, but Percy didn't. Instead, he forged on after a brief prayer to the Lord to keep him safe during this trial, and if he should fall, may the end be swift and his reception into the afterlife a pleasant one.

As Percy wound his way through the unfinished corridors and leapt from piece to piece, his main thought was what his mother would think if she knew what he was doing right now.

Percy eventually came across a lowered door, but there was enough room to slide under it. Upon doing so, he almost died, because on the other side of the door was a metal landing that ended with a several hundred foot drop straight to Hell. Taking a few moments to recognize just how dangerous what he was doing is, the risks he was taking, and the amount of laws he was breaking, Percy admired the view.

Looking to his right, he saw a few grab-holds that led to a diagonal incline. Without hesitation, Percy leapt with as much force as his body could produce, and he sailed through the air. Metal met flesh, and the boy grabbed on tight, his feet quickly finding purchase. Shimmying over, Percy hauled himself up the incline, then up into a crane.

Briefly marveling at how much destruction he could cause by turning this baby on, Percy continued his ascension, scaling the crane's massive arm to its top, where a convenient steel beam hung still in the air. Percy jumped, grabbing its edge, and hauling himself on top of it. The beam swayed due to his weight, the cables groaning in protest at his intrusion, so Percy was quick to leap off the hanging beam for one that was bolted into the building's frame.

Lighting on top of it, Percy was once again aware of how high up he was. Swallowing his fear, the boy located the next handhold, one that was several feet away from him, he leapt for it, hands out wide. Once more, the Lord was there for him, because Percy grabbed his lifeline without fail. Seeing a beam below him, Percy swung a bit to gain some momentum, and then leapt off, lighting with perfect balance and agility.

Then Percy casually crossed the 500-hundred foot drop to Death to the other hanging steel beam, scampered across that one, and jumped for the platform bolted into the side of the building. Percy grabbed it, and hauled himself up. He leaned against his jungle gym, taking many deep breaths to calm himself down. That had been scary, very scary.

That had almost been wet-his-pants scary.

Once more swallowing his fear, Percy quickly ascended the outcropping in the skyscraper, where the construction crew was putting in the wiring for some tool or another. Coming to a break, Percy leapt up, and snagged the strut that the wires were bring threaded through, and then slid over to the other strut, before shimmying up a place in the structure where the protective shields broke and allowed for perfect grip.

Then came the tricky part.

Looking above him, Percy saw that a platform was directly above his head, and the only way up was to get on top of it. The problem was that the platform stuck out over the wall, and therefor out over Percy. He would have to jump for it. Too little, and he wouldn't make it, too much, and he could smack his head and knock himself out and fall to his death, do it in the wrong way, and he could just launch himself backwards and die.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Percy got ready. His muscles tensed, his body coiled, and his mind geared itself up. Adrenaline surged through Percy's body, more than what had already been coursing through him, and then he jumped. For a horrifying second, he was weightless, his body angled away from any purchase available.

Then his hands clamped down on metal.

With a heave, his muscles burning from the strain, Percy pulled himself up on solid ground. Technically speaking. Thank you, Jesus Christ, the boy thought to himself. He was surprised his heart hadn't exploded from how fast it was beating. Blowing a heavy amount of air from his lungs, Percy got back to his feet, and continued his way through the construction site.

He couldn't help but marvel how everything in front of was conveniently placed for a free-running course. Eventually, Percy arrived at another area in which the only to go up was to leap out onto a hanging steel beam. Good Lord, this place had a lot of beams just hanging around.

Percy leapt out, grabbed the beam, and hauled himself up, one more marveling at his height above the sprawling city of Manhattan. At night, the skyscrapers were blazing with light, the honking of horns was loud and clear, and the night sky was all but invisible due to the haze of car emissions and light pollution. This city was dirty, and in Percy's dark little mind, needed to be wiped clean off the face of the earth.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Percy jumped from the hanging beam to the one bolted into the building, pulled himself up, and then leapt to platform still higher than he was, and once again hauled himself to his feet. The final stretch, was he on.

Percy quickly scrambled up the piece of equipment in front of him, then jumped to a piece of metal skeleton in front of him, then jumped again to more bones. Taking a breath, Percy coiled himself, then sprang forward with all the power of a lion attacking an elephant. With a resounding clang, his body found purchase on the lit-up crane.

Heart pounding, the boy climbed the crane like a ladder, and came up next to the operator's box. Failing to suppress a grin of exhilaration, Percy stepped onto the latticework of crisscrossing poles that made up the crane's massive arm, and began to casually stroll up into the heavens. When Percy reached the tip of the crane, he threw his hands into the air, and screamed of his triumph.

In the City That Never Sleeps, his victory went unheard.

Percy stood there for a time, basking in his personal glory, admiring the city upon which he stood atop. The moment wore off, and then the glaring issue of downward transportation came into play. However, Percy came prepared. He didn't climb this particular skyscraper because it was _just_ being built.

He climbed it because it was right next to the Hudson River.

Percy had seen Faris perform this act a great many times, and so he himself felt that he had performed this act a great many times. He knew the technique, knew the form, knew what to expect, and knew why this act was called what it was. A Leap of Faith was just that: a leap into certain doom, and faith that you wouldn't die.

With a quick prayer, Percy did just that, he dove straight off the end of the crane, legs held tight, arms splayed wide. As the dirty water rushed up to meet him, the boy heard a sound akin to that of an eagle's cry. Just before splash down, Percy put his arms in front of him into a spear tip, and plunged in.

The boy popped up out of the water, grinning like a fool. He paddled his way to a dock, and climbed out. There was a drunk lounging on a bench that spat out his drink upon seeing Percy emerge from the river. Making his way back to the main city, the boy suddenly realized something:

He wasn't wet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Yay, I got this finished!**_

 _ **Alright, so Percy is experiencing his own Bleeding Effect, and is starting to 'synch' with Faris. Now, some of you may be wondering why Percy seems so dark in the beginning. Currently, while changing, Percy realizes on some level that he's not 'real,' and is just a fake soul the Fates made to hold the real Percy's place in the present, and so he's depressed and sees everything as pointless. This view of the world has led to a mature, serious, and darker Percy than canon.**_

 _ **Like all of my stories.**_

 _ **This chapter was the first semester of Percy's sixth grade year, and the next chapter will the rest of the semester. You may have noticed the absence of Mr. Bruner and Ms. Dodds. They come next chapter, along with Percy's Eagle Vision, which will make things fun.**_

 _ **Speaking of fun: Artemis, Percy, Zoё, French Revolution. While it is generally understood that**_ **Unity** _ **is not the franchise's best game, it does offer a lot in terms of a literary playground of fun. What I mean is the smorgasbord of side missions. Lots and lots of fun.**_

 _ **For those wondering, yes, the skyscraper Percy just climbed is a direct rip-off from**_ **ACIII** _ **, and no. I don't actually know if there are any skyscrapers being built so close to the Hudson River, and I don't care to find out if there are any. Just accept it as canon content that Percy has the free-climbing ability to scale massive structures of steel and iron, and electrical wire.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	7. What is the World?

_What is the World?_

 _ **I return once more to the internet with the next installment of what seems to be the new hit fanfic,**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **. At least, it seems to me that it's a hit, with over 120 reviews in just**_ _ **six**_ _ **chapters. Everyone give yourselves a round of applause at this accomplishment.**_

…

 _ **Done clapping? Excellent. This will be the second chapter of the First Interlude Arc, in which there is more of what basically amounts to exposition, character development, and plot-moving-forwardness. Oh, and more Bleeding Effect stuff. That's always fun. Speaking of fun, I'm a little surprised no one had any questions about the French Revolution and what I'm talking about in regards to Percy's soft face and Zoё recognizing it.**_

 _ **Anyway.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy, while making his head hurt, still dwelt on the past. Especially the part of Faris' life that involved a centaur, a girl with lightning powers, numerous children in orange robes, and a Templar with a sword. It was strange, even to Percy, how he accepted that Faris had been real (but he was _not_ that man), accepted that von Wolff had been real, and accepted that the Templar treasure and the Assassin Brotherhood had both been real (and most likely both were eradicated at this point in time), but not the Grecian stuff.

Perhaps it was Percy's newfound deeply seated faith in Christianity that kept him from believing in the pagan gods, but whatever the case may be, all of that would change today.

Christmas had come and gone, and Percy had done something that made him feel a little warm inside: he got Grover a present. Said present being a gift card to a nearby Mexican restaurant for an all-you-can-eat enchilada special. The cripple had swooned. Percy had also mailed his mother a gift: a small cross, and a small excerpt from the Bible. Namely, a small Book of Proverbs.

He hadn't received a reply letter, but he knew that when he returned to the apartment for the summer, there would be questions. Speaking of the apartment…Smelly Gabe. Perseus would be having words with that 'man.' Calling Ugliano a walrus would just be insulting…to the walrus.

New Year's had come just as swiftly, and disappeared with greater haste. Percy's resolution was simple: continue to get better.

Yancy Academy, being a boarding school, had been supremely kind enough to give its students two weeks of break from the strenuous tenure of being a student, but now the holidays were over, the rich were expected to be back in a desk, and classes were expected to start. There was a new class being introduced this semester, one that Percy found that he had no such knowledge of asking to attend or even hinting at wanting to attend:

Latin class.

Speaking of a foreign language, Percy spoke fluent Arabic. He knew every word, every meaning of every word, every verb form of every word, every Arabic spelling of every word, and every English writing of every word. Percy did not know _how_ , but he _knew_ it was directly related to Faris. Seriously, the boy could climb like the man, run like the man, think like the man, believed like the man (mostly), so why could he not _speak_ like the man?

And why not add Latin to the list?

Percy was staring out the window, eyeing the skyscraper that he scaled, wishing more than anything that he could just ditch this idiotic class and go for a run. Hidden beneath the sleeves of his white hoodie, his Hidden Blades (Pencils) were strapped comfortably to his wrists. With a casual flick, the mechanisms activated, and the left Blade came sliding out with all the sound of a feather hitting the ground. Even if there had been a loud SNIKT, the classroom's din of conversation would've drowned out the vibrations of the air.

The door to the room opened, and the teacher must've entered, because there came a deep, friendly, "Good morning, class!" followed by the harmonious "Good morning, Mr. Brunner!" of mindless drones. While Percy _did not care_ about this class or the teacher, he turned his head just enough to where he could give the man a sideways glance.

His sea-green eyes widened.

That beard, that hair, that color, those eyes, those lines, those wrinkles, that gleam, that build…it shouldn't have been possible. It must've been just some kind of divine joke, God was just having a small bit of fun at his expense. It was not computing, it just was. Not. Computing.

How in the Lord's name was _Chiron_ still alive!? And why was he in a wheelchair!?

Percy blinked several times, so many times, all quick and rapid times. He blinked so fast that to any who looked it would've just been a fluttering of his eyelids. With each bat of his lashes, Percy's eyes proved to not be deceiving him, because not once did the image of Chiron disappear to be replaced by some other old man in a wheelchair.

Then, Percy took a slow blink, closing his eyes real, real tight, and then he opened them…and the world was not right. Everything was tinged in blue, all the students surrounded by a dull grey aura. Then there was the teacher. He glowed blue—an ally—except there was one glaring little, teeny tiny detail: the man's lower half was not that of a wheelchair, but a wispy white Palomino horse, the legs curled underneath in a laying position.

As Mr. Brunner moved around, the horse half glided along with him as if it was a CGI image.

"Hey, Perce, you okay man?"

The demigod's eyes slide over to Grover, who was also glowing blue, but he too had something wrong with everything below his waist. Instead of seeing jeans and shoes, Percy saw wispy brown goat legs and hooves. He slowly raised his eyes back up to meet the cripple's concerned orbs.

"You okay, Percy?"

Mr. Brunner cleared his throat. "Is there a problem back there, gentlemen?"

"Um, no sir, Mr. Brunner, sir. My friend, Percy, was just spacing out, and I was, uh, making sure he was alright."

"I see. That's very kind of you Mr. Underwood. Mr. Jackson, are you all here today?" Percy couldn't help but keep staring at Mr. Brunner, his eyes drawn to the man's not-wheelchair. "Yes, I do quite fancy my wheels as well, but I do have a class I need to teach."

The words broke through the gears of Percy's mind, and the boy blinked, and his vision returned to normal. However, he was still screwed in the head at the moment, and he needed time to think and sort his thoughts once more on the subject of what was and wasn't fact, and this was not a practice so easily accomplished in an idiotic classroom.

Percy smiled coolly. "Of course, sir. I was just a bit distracted by the calling of nature. May I be excused?"

The class snickered, while Brunner smiled kindly. "Of course. Be sure to take the pass with you on your way out."

Percy rose from his desk, calm and graceful as a lion on the prowl, made his way to the front of the room, grabbed the pass, gave Brunner a sideways glance as he exited, and promptly bolted full-speed for the nearest bathroom.

Upon entrance, the boy was at the sink in an instant, his breathing calm and even despite his sprint and his roiling thoughts. Percy stared at his reflection.

"Okay, so I have Faris' Gift…I'm going to use Big Brother's-I mean, Altaїr's term for it: Eagle Vision. Because it sounds cooler. Using Eagle Vision, Mr. Brunner has Chiron's ass, and without Eagle Vision, he has Chiron's face, voice, and mannerisms. Even with it being a scientific fact that there are people in the world that look almost like you, there is no way that Brunner and Chiron just _happen_ to look exactly the same, never mind the wheelchair-horse thing.

"Then there's Grover. Using Eagle Vision on him, he has the legs of a goat. In Greek Mythology, such creatures are known as satyrs. But, Grover doesn't have horns…perhaps he's a young satyr? Wait, why am I thinking that he's a satyr…AHH!"

Percy gripped his head in both hands, the hall pass clattering to the ground, as another migraine threatened to metaphorically split his head open. This _always_ happened. This pain, this agony, always when he refused to believe in the part of Faris' life where the man accepted the existence of the Greek gods.

The pain subsided eventually, and Percy was left panting and sweating. He supposed the highlight of that event was that he didn't piss his pants. He stared at himself once more, taking note of the lost look on his face. This had to stop, and there was only one way to stop it, but seriously?

 _Greek. Gods._ Real?

Percy's head began to buzz, a sure warning that another migraine was coming on, so the boy began talking to himself again.

"Alright," he breathed, "alright. They…those pagans…they're real. I believe it—I believe it as strongly as I believe in the Bible."

Immediately, Percy felt better. His chest blossomed with warmth, his lungs expanded, contracting a comfortable volume of air, the pain in his mind instantly burned away, and as a whole, Percy felt a sense of…completeness…take over him. The boy had meant what he said, of course, he wasn't just saying that in some vain hope that the words would alleviate his pain.

He had not lied, and therefore he had not sinned, and _therefore_ the Lord had made him free of those headaches…at least, that's what Percy believed with all his little heart. But then, if Percy could accept the existence of the pagan pantheon, then did that mean that he and Faris truly were the same…?

The boy blinked once, and suddenly there was a man behind him. Percy did not fear, however, for he knew this man. Those robes, those weapons, that beaked hood, the small smile…Faris Ibn-La'Ahad.

"So…does that mean that you and I are truly…?"

The Assassin nodded once, his smile growing.

"I see, but…how?"

"He has work for us. Work than was accomplished then, and work that needs attending to today, and tomorrow."

"I'll do it," Percy said firmly. "So we can be with Altaїr again."

Faris' smile reached its peak, and the man was gone.

Percy felt a new feeling envelope him, a feeling of supreme wholeness. Accepting Faris as his past life, accepting the existence of the Greeks, still having this unshakable faith in God…it all combined to create this fuzzy feeling of comfort in Percy's chest, and suddenly, the world didn't look so pointless anymore. Now the boy had a purpose: play his part in His plan.

The hard part to that was discovering what exactly his part was.

Then another thought occurred to Percy.

He turned the knob of the faucet, causing water to come sprinkling out. He focused, putting all of his concentration into this. Percy imagined the stream of water rising in an arc, curling and looping about like a roller coaster around his person, and then draining back down into the sink. Percy's gut clenched slightly, like he had just finished his nightly set of 500 sit ups, before the water did _exactly_ what he imagined it to.

The bathroom went silent for a moment as the water danced through the air, before sound resumed as the stream returned to the sink.

What was the story behind _this_ phenomena? Percy wondered. Since emerging from the Hudson that night bone-dry, the boy had performed more experimentation with his apparent 'hydrokinesis,' as science called it. He had run his hand under a stream of water, not wanting to get wet, and then did the same thing wanting to get wet, with each experiment ending with the results he willed.

If he wanted to get wet, he did. If not, then he simply became wet. Beyond that, he found that, with a pinch of imagination, and a dash of desire, and a helping of will, he could bend water into shapes and constructs as he pleased. Currently, since there seemed to be no true limit to what he could do with water, baring his imagination, he had begun work on being able to 'sense' the liquid as it traveled through pipes and such.

He had met with limited success, but with each passing day did he get better.

Percy had no true explanation for this power of his, so he simply chalked it up to a gift from God and went from there.

With a sigh and grin, Percy ended his control over the liquid, allowing the stream to return to normal after the last loop of water went down the drain. Now he had a new dilemma: what to do about Brunner the centaur and Grover the satyr.

Why were they here? What did they want? What did they know? Were they here to watch him for some reason? Did they know he was the reincarnation of Faris, and wanted answers? Was there presence linked to his water powers? Was their presence linked to the strange weather patterns that stretched across the globe after the solstice?

Percy doubted that Chiron knew that he and Faris were the same person. Their faces were completely different, after all. But how to handle that? Reveal himself now and explain the circumstance? No…even if that worked, it wouldn't answer the question of why Chiron was here, and why Grover had been here for as long as he had, although it might make getting that answer much easier.

Even still, there was a voice in the back of Percy's mind telling him to remain in the dark, and to not draw attention to himself. And so Percy would listen to that voice, for that voice was his instincts.

It was important for an Assassin to follow their instincts, after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm Ms. Dodds, your new math teacher."

Percy instantly didn't like this woman, and it had nothing to do with her sneering countenance, upturned nose, beady little eyes, biker jacket, and snobbish tone, but what she looked like under the gaze of Eagle Vision. For one, she was glowing red, meaning she was an enemy (and Percy knew it was more than just being a math teacher), but just like Brunner and Grover, she was different.

As in she was a hideous bat-creature.

From the boy's knowledge on Greek mythology, he knew this thing to be a Fury.

"Percy Jackson, come up to the front of the class and solve for x, please."

Internally, the boy snarled viciously. On the outside, he just smiled, "Yes, ma'am."

Even using Eagle Vision, Percy was not cured of his dyslexia. He looked at the equation, and the numbers fluctuated, danced, vibrated, spun, and refused to make coherent sense. Percy arrived at the board, and he stopped.

"Well, Mr. Jackson? Can you not perform basic algebra?" the Fury sneered.

"I have dyslexia, ma'am. Can you please tell me what the board says, since I cannot read it appropriately?"

The teacher snorted. "I've never heard a poorer excuse in my life, honey. Dyslexia, please. There's no such thing, honey. Your mother simply failed to teach you how to read, honey."

While the sheep snickered quietly to themselves, Percy went very still. The sheep did not detect it, but the Fury did. The air pressure changed, the temperature seemed to drop, and the aura around the boy shifted. The hair on the Fury's neck stood on end as a feeling of being threatened enveloped her in an icy embrace.

A lone green orb bored a hole straight through the Fury's soul. "The equation, Ms. Dodds...please."

"T-Two x minus f-four e-equals e-eight."

Almost a full two seconds later, "X equals six."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of Percy's math class carried on with Dodds rewriting algebra problems on the board, and calling up random children to solve for the ever-important x, all the while affectionately referring to each and every one of them as 'honey.' The teacher did not call Percy back up to the front for the remainder of the class, but she felt his presence.

Perseus stared unblinkingly at the Fury until the bell rang.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On pushup 435, Percy's arms, devoid his Hidden Blades, were burning as if on fire, yet he still continued to go up and down like a machine, still trying to vent his fury at that pathetic wench who disguised herself as a human. Grover was on his bed, nose deep in a book, failing to feign interest in the literature. Percy's body was dripping with sweat from the exertion, but he refused to stop till his rage was gone.

…

This wasn't working. Percy got up, fully aware of Grover staring at his frame with no small amount of envy, and said, "I'm going to take a shower." He grabbed a towel, a change of clothes, and made a beeline for the communal shower. Whoever thought that it was a good idea to put a communal shower in a private school that included sixth grade through twelfth needed to be drawn and quartered, but at least it was not coed.

That would just be asking for trouble.

Since it was past curfew, it was 'illegal' to be out of your dorms at this time of night, but this school either didn't care that much or just didn't have the money, because there weren't any 'guards' that were patrolling the halls. That made it easy for Percy to step into the admittedly clean bathroom, make his way for a shower stall, and close the curtain behind him.

Seconds later, warm water cascaded down the boy's pant-covered body. His clothes getting wet didn't matter, since he could just will himself dry. The only reason he brought clothes and a towel was so that Grover wouldn't ask questions.

Percy had come in here to let go of his anger, and so that was what he did. As the water ran from his form, to the ground, and then down the drain, the boy's negative emotions flowed with it. Ms. Dodds the Fury could go fuck herself for all he cared. She was a dust mite compared to the power of the Lord, and anything she did to him was pointless and in vain.

Feeling refreshed, Percy turned off the water, and willed himself dry. Just like that, all the water soaking his clothes was drained out entirely. The greatest thing about this was that the water was gone, but not the temperature, which left Percy feeling like he was wearing pants and underwear fresh out the dryer.

Throwing his clothes and towel over his shoulder, the boy left the bathroom, and froze when he saw who was waiting for him outside. It was Faris, only the Assassin looked so much different. He seemed transparent, wispy, hazy, not-all-there, opposite as he was in the bathroom earlier that day. Faris looked more like a hologram than a solid being.

Percy watched as his past life calmly began to stroll down the hallway, and after a moment of light ponderation, the boy followed. Percy walked after the silent Faris until the apparition glided through the doors to the gym. A small problem arose in the form of said doors being locked, but it was a problem soon solved by Percy's lock picks, conveniently sized to where they hid in his mop of messy black hair like needles within a haystack.

The gym was huge, typical of such a space, with a towering row of bleachers immediately adjacent the door. Several basketball goals, all retractable, hung low from the high-up ceiling, with the bleachers all being pressed together against the wall. On the opposite side of the gym was a scorekeeper's table, and on the wall was a door to the coach's office, and a door for the girls' locker room and another door for the boys' locker room. While it was night, the covered windows up high still let in enough moonlight, to bathe the gym in a soft silver glow.

Percy noticed will a small sense of trepidation that he could not see Faris.

"HAAAAAAA!"

The boy pitched forward as soon as he heard the warbled war cry. He heard a warbled thump behind him, felt a strange shudder through the hardwood floor. Percy had dropped his clothes and towel midroll, and so when he looked up, he saw a most curious sight. A ghostly Templar, clad in a white tunic, chainmail armor, and a red bucket that covered his head was standing on his clothes, only not really _on_ them, such as _through_ them.

The Templar did not have a sword.

The bucket-head screamed again, and Percy tensed for combat, forgoing his endeavor to decipher this strange phenomenon. The Templar neared, and thrust out with a fist, and Percy's body moved. He angled his body to where the offending limb sailed past his chest, while his arms wrapped around the Templar's upper torso and back. With the position of his feet and his grip on the man, Percy used the Templar's momentum to flip him over onto his back.

With a grunt of his own, Percy reared his fist back and crushed the apparition's larynx with a single blow.

The Templar faded like a mirage.

Percy stared at the floor, his fist suspended a few inches above the ground. He had _felt_ that impact, he had _felt_ the cloth and the armor, he had _felt_ the weight, and he had felt cold instinct to kill and obeyed without hesitation. And how did that make Percy feel?

Not a damn bit of different than when he woke up this morning.

The boy looked up, and saw that Faris was there again. The Assassin nodded once, seemingly praising Percy on his work. Then, literally from thin air, three Templars walked up behind Faris, all three with a different helmet color, but no different from the first Templar. The left one had a blue helmet, the middle a green helmet, and the right a yellow helmet.

Faris said no more, but disappeared from sight. Immediately, the Templars let loose a triple-voiced, "Die, heretic!" before charging. Percy met this charge head on, but when he got close, he performed an excellent seat-roll maneuver, popping up close to Blue. With a low spin, Percy swept the man's legs out from underneath him.

Standing quickly, Percy leaned to the side, dodging Green's punch. With the man right next to him, Percy grabbed the back of Green's tunic, and repeatedly slammed his knee into the apparition's stomach, before ending with a heel kick to the groin that sent Green clambering into Yellow.

Percy spun on the ball of his foot, nailing the rising Blue in the head with the middle of his shin, once more knocking the Templar to the ground, only this time his neck was at a funny angle. Wide-eyed with surprise, Percy watched the deceased apparition fade away. Did he just kill a man by breaking his neck with a sweeping kick to the head?

Just how strong had he become?

Duel cries of vigor from behind alerted Percy to the aft threat, and he spun around to face them. Green came first, attacking with a wide kick. Percy ducked underneath and quickly lashed out with a cheap shot to the crotch once more, sending Green to the ground. Yellow leapt over his fallen comrade, body angled for a spear-like kick.

Percy rolled backwards, dodging, and rose like a released spring. He was on the defensive, his arms moving with breath-taking speed as he countered the ferocious barrage from Yellow. Percy's back suddenly hit the scorekeeper's table, and he jerked his body on to it, and curled himself, before striking out with brutal force, meeting Yellow's helmet with both heels.

The Templar was knocked flat on his back, but he writhed in pain, not yet neutralized.

Green came rushing back into the scene, so Percy continued his roll across the table, putting himself and the apparition apart by about three feet. The Templar stood there, arms spread wide, body tensed. Then he jerked to the side, causing Percy to jerk to the side, then he jerked to the other side, making Percy mirror him.

Green continued trying to fake Percy out, but the boy's reactions were keeping easy pace. Then, with an abnormal juke, Green left his arm too far over the table, just far enough for Percy to latch on like a curious cub bites a waving piece of meat, before hauling the Templar across the table to where the man was no longer attached to the ground.

Percy looped his arms around Green's neck, squeezed, and put everything he had into a single jerking motion. It took three tries, but Percy broke Green's neck with a loud crunch. A twelve-year-old just broke grown man's neck. Green faded away like the non-real thing that he was.

All that was left was Yellow.

Percy found his final opponent calmly standing in the middle of the gym. So he engaged with a fervor. He sprinted forward, but Yellow did something wholly surprising: he retreated. The Templar scrambled backward to the bleachers, and proceeded to use the handrails, all conveniently stacked like the rungs of a ladder, to climb up, up, up, before jumping and grabbing onto the rafters above.

Snorting to himself, Percy sprinted forward, using his momentum to run up the bleacher, before leaping out with enough distance to grab onto the basketball goal's back. Percy hauled himself up, and then proceeded to climb the goal up to the ceiling, his hands and feet moving with deft precision. In no time at all, he on the rafters, staring at the yellow-helmeted Templar with narrowed eyes.

When a half-naked twelve-year-old stares at you like he wants to kill you, and he's killed two men already, that is cause for great concern.

Snarling, Percy jumped without a hint of fear or hesitation, and proceeded to use each row of rafters as monkey bars, swinging from strut to strut with expert level skill, skill born from years of performing such feats of parkour. When Percy got to the last row of rafters before the Templar, he began to swing himself down the row, before he swung himself across and hauled himself up.

Maneuvering himself down the line, Percy stopped within ten feet of Yellow. Falling from this height would probably hurt a lot, but would not be fatal, depending on how he landed, but also up here, movement was limited due to a tight walkway, close proximity to the ceiling, and body size. Still, Percy advanced anyway.

He had a plan.

When he got close, Yellow swiped at him, and Percy acted. He grabbed the incoming fist, and used its momentum to roll over, entering freefall. Of course, the sudden shift in forces brought the Templar tumbling down with the boy, and the already circular movement had the end result of the yellow-helmeted holy man slamming into a hardwood floor with all the added pressure, weight, and force of a 120lb young man meeting his torso.

The fall, combined with Percy, caused Yellow's ribs to splinter, peppering his insides with bone shrapnel. The Templar faded, and Percy fell the remaining five inches to the ground with a surprised grunt. Okay, that whole thing had been weird, because he had felt every impact, felt every bit of cloth, and every bit of metal, and every breaking of bone. All seemingly the result of hitting a hologram.

Percy got up, barely winded and his body not even having broken a sweat. He saw Faris standing in front of him, and the smile on the Assassin's face made Percy feel a swell of pride. The Horseman crossed his arm over his chest, and gave a light bow. The Destroyer crossed his own arm over his chest, and bowed in return.

The Assassin faded, and the demigod picked up his things and returned to his dorm.

So, on top of endurance and speed training, muscular training, and parkour training, Perseus Jackson could now add combat training to his list of secret activities.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **I think it's cool that Percy's Eagle Vision can see through the Mist, and how he handled Ms. Dodds made me feel really good about myself for some reason. Now, this whole fight scene was something that stemmed straight from the Bleeding Effect. Notice how Percy, a child with an admittedly fit body, was able to decimate full-grown men. That explanation is a simple one, in that his demigod body, being half-god, is more physically capable than a normal human's.**_

 _ **Also, being a son of the Big Three as opposed to a minor god, Percy will have a level of physical capability superior to that of the average demigod, much like how Thalia, Jason, Hazel, Nico, and Bianca will also have. But all that comes much later.**_

 _ **Next chapter will be the final quote 'filler' chapter before we move into the Second Life arc, with the field trip to the museum, the exodus from Gabe's, the Minotaur, the Camp, the Capture the Flag, and the inevitable flashback to 1503, Rome.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	8. AN

_**I know this is the last thing you would want to hear from any author, but…I'm sorry guys. Due to extenuating circumstances, I'm going to be off the net for a good long while. I don't when I'll get back online, if ever, but I'll let you all know when I'm back. Just keep checking your inboxes for me.**_

 _ **I want you all to know it's been a great ride these past two years, and I've had tons of fun!**_

 _ **God Bless all of you!**_

 _ **-DelayedInspiration**_


	9. Return

_**In regards to the previous Author's Note…**_

 _ **APRIL FOOLS, BITCHES!**_


	10. What is it to Transcend?

_What is it to Transcend?_

Started on March 28th.

 _ **It i's really heartwarming as an author to see that his readers love something that he puts into his stories. Everyone's happy with Eagle Vision seeing through the Mist, everyone's generally happy with me bringing God into the story, and everyone's happy with Percy experiencing the Bleeding Effect.**_

 _ **Praise the Lord.**_

 _ **Alright, this is the final 'filler' chapter. I say it's filler because we're not starting the Second Life arc, but we are starting canon. As in the field trip, Alecto, end of the school year, Gabe, Minotaur, Camp etc. So without further ado, let us now dive head first into the glorious world of**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _May 7, 2006_

 _Metropolitan Museum of Art_

 _Manhattan, New York_

The past few months had been simple for Percy. Push ups, sit ups, squats, ditching Dodds' class for an afternoon run through the city, climb the occasional building (he hadn't visited a skyscraper since December), practice with his water powers, read his Bible, pray, deal with the sheep that were his 'classmates,' continue to give Dodds a feeling of impending death anytime he was actually in her class, and about every other night or so, break into the gym for combat with Templar apparitions.

That was probably the favorite of Percy's secret activities.

The boy had kept himself in the shadows, just as he intended. He did not approach Chiron beyond Latin class, he never called Grover out on his goat legs, and he made sure that Ms. Dodds knew that he did not like her, and that he would not be putting up with her bullshit. Praise the Lord that the old bat was smart enough to _never_ call on him to answer any questions.

On this day, Yancey Academy saw fit to send Brunner's Latin class on a field trip to a museum to soak up the rich culture of the Greco-Roman age. With Ms. Dodds along for chaperoning purposes. So that meant that 28 children and two teachers were all crammed into a single bus...that lacked seatbelts.

Seatbelts were important until you put 30 kids into one vehicle.

The bus ride was deathly silent, mostly because Percy Jackson and Mrs. Dodds were within 45 feet of one another. The first day back from break was a day of infamy for the whole of Yancy Academy, because it was the day in which a student completely decimated a teacher. To this day, everyone knew of the feud between the Loner and the Math Teacher, and it was quiet on the bus because of the fear that a single utterance would start a war.

Such was the power of Perseus Jackson.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The class was in the museum now, and Mr. Brunner was lecturing upon the great specifics of a burial stele for a dead girl. Percy's eyes were on constant dart mode, Eagle Vision active as he searched for any other unsavory creatures/characters that sought to hide in the crowd. He saw none, besides the Fury.

The class moved on, and as Percy began to pay attention to something that Chiron was saying, a delinquent in the back with red hair decided show her vast immaturity by snickering aloud at a naked statue of Poseidon. Percy turned to her, and his eyes conveyed more than words ever could. Nancy Bobofit promptly shut up.

Of course, this act caught the attention of Ms. Dodds, but Percy's eyes turned glacial when he looked at her. The Fury was quick to look away. Further of course, Chiron saw this act, and he chose to turn Percy's attention away from threatening people with his eyes, to answering questions.

"Mr. Jackson, perhaps you tell me what this picture represents?"

Slowly shifting his freezing gaze away from the Fury, Percy looked at the picture in question, and cocked a brow. "That would be Kronos devouring his children."

"Correct. Can you tell us why?"

"Fear. Paranoia. Stupidity. Prophecy from his own father. After castrating and overthrowing Ouranos, the primordial warned his traitorous son that his offspring would overthrow him in time, so when Rhea gave birth to Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, and eventually Poseidon, Kronos gave into the fear that stemmed from Ouranos' prophecy, and ate them all."

Brunner blinked. Grover blinked. Dodds blinked. The class was just staring, not entirely sure of what to make of what they just heard.

"Um...excellent job, Mr. Jackson. Do you know the rest of the story?"

Percy nodded shortly.

"Horrified and revolted, Rhea, pregnant with Zeus, decided to escape. Upon his birth, the Titan Queen gave her husband a rock in Zeus' place, and Kronos displayed his supreme stupidity by eating said rock and knowing any difference between it and a body. Hiding him away, Zeus grew up in secret, and when he came of age, he went to the Titans, disguised, and managed to feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which caused him to vomit out the future Olympians. A war ensued, and the gods won."

Brunner beamed. "Well done, Mr. Jackson, well done! On that happy note, let's head out for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, if you please."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy did not know what gave Nancy the courage to do what she did, but it did not matter. The redhead got it in her head to throw some of her sandwich at Grover. Only, Grover had terrible timing, and leaned down to take a bite of his apple, removing his head from the projectile's path, which made Percy next in line.

Typically, his reflexes would've been just fine in saving him from getting hit with peanut butter and ketchup, but the timing between Grover and the sandwich was inexplicably well-timed, and the boy got dinged square in the face. Those who were watching barely had time to register the amount of fuck-up in the air, before Nancy Bobofit was suddenly swimming in a nearby fountain.

With a look of the utmost displeasure and contempt, Percy cleaned his face off with napkin provided by Grover. When he opened his eyes again, he found none other than Ms. Dodds standing before him, wearing what seemed to be a brave mask. One that had many cracks. Still, there was a strange light in her eyes.

A light that seemed all the more intense due to the brewing storm above.

"Now, honey-"

"Save it for someone who cares."

The Fury recoiled, while the eavesdropping sheep gasped at the blatant disrespect. The demon recovered, and she said, "Come with me." She turned her back clearly expectant of him to follow without question. For his own reasons, Percy did so.

As the pair re-entered the museum, the demigod allowed a quick glance at the centaur. He was nose-deep in a book...but his eyes did not move. Instead, they were glued to a single spot in his book, and Percy knew then that Chiron was watching these proceedings with a critical eye, even he was not looking directly at the world around him.

Percy followed the Fury into the museum, his Eagle Vision active. The creature in front of him was just as ruby and bat-like as it always was. At this moment, the reincarnate Assassin was more aware if the pressures around his wrists than he usually was. His Hidden Blades felt warm against his arms, and Percy was resisting the urge to take this demon out now.

However, there many people around, many innocents. Percy would stay true to the Creed in not drawing attention to himself and protecting those who need not die. However, make no mistake, when the opportunity presented itself, Percy was going to stab this heathen, and whether pencils were capable of killing Greek monsters or not was irrelevant until it became relevant. Percy had faith that graphite would suffice.

Dodds entered the Greco-Roman gallery, which was mysteriously empty, and Percy prayed. It was a simple prayer, one that was not long or complex, but one that was straight forward, to the point, concise, clear, and not at all confusing in the message it conveyed.

' _Please these pencils do the job, and forgive for the taking of this creature's life. Amen.'_

"Now, honey," Ms. Dodds turned around, and received two No.2 pencils straight to the brain via the eye socket. Sharpened to perfection, writing utensils can be very dangerous. Now, the Fury did not, unfortunately, explode into golden dust, not that Percy knew monsters were supposed to do something like that, but she did let out an unholy shriek at being impaled.

Growling, Percy ripped out his pencils, the wood stained with red, and rolled backwards. The Fury wailed and screamed, flailing about with her hands over her eyes, blood squirting and spraying about without end.

"My eyes! My eyes! I can't see!" wailed the heathen. Behind it, a marble frieze of the Greek deities stared dispassionately at the Fury.

Percy stared at this poor creature with pity. He had no love for it, but nor did he wish for her to undergo such suffering. He had aimed for the eyes so that the brain would be damaged, killing the creature instantly. Instead, what he got was a soul in agony. With a growling sigh, Percy sped forward, tackled the Fury to the ground, and instantly had his hands on either side of her head.

SCRUNCH

Now with a broken neck, the Fury melted into golden dust, dust that somehow managed to dissipate into oblivion. Percy looked at the dust with an expressionless look. This was how Faris had always looked at a target if he ever had the time. Percy experienced what he was supposed to experience in light of this circumstance.

Guilt, remorse, uncertainty, doubt. The feelings that separated men from monsters. The feelings that made one human. Killing was not an act to be enjoyed, nor was it an act to be met with apathy. It was an abominable act, for anything, any human, any man. Even the bad ones.

Strange though you may call him, Percy did feel a measure of sadness for the those like Hitler, Stalin, Hussein, Bin Laden etc. Men who were corrupted by Satan and now burned or will burn for their deeds. Percy prayed for them, just as he prayed for all in this world. Gays, lesbians, blacks, whites, Latinos, Asians, prisoners, criminals, everyone.

Percy did not discriminate in who he prayed for.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, the demigod rose to his feet, heart hardened and resolve strengthened. He had been here long enough. Percy turned around, walked out of the Greco-Roman exhibit, and made his way for the front door. Before he reached the exit, he felt _it_. A strange breeze, a warm breath that passed over, around, and through him.

Blinking at the strange feeling, and narrowing his eyes at would it could mean (a whole wide range of possibilities), Percy exited the museum. It was drizzling a bit. The boy noticed Grover by the fountain, using a map as an umbrella.

Nancy Bobofit was waiting for him at the base of the steps. She saw him, and exclaimed, "I hope Ms. Kerr whipped your butt!"

Without breaking stride down the stairs to Grover, Percy merely gave the redheaded klepto a sideways glance, uttering a simple "Mm-hm" before passing her like garbage on the street. Percy next to his dormmate. "Where's Dodds?"

The cripple flinched, shuddering. "Who? Never mind. Here," Grover offered some of his map to the Assassin. "You'll get sick if you just stand there."

"Grover," Percy said patiently, "I'm not even getting wet."

Instead of refuting this, the acne-ridden satyr just paled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the bus ride back to Yancy, the drizzle evolved into a full-blown thunderstorm. On the bus ride back to Yancy, Percy had his Eagle Vision active for no other purpose than he wanted it active. On the bus ride back to Yancy, Percy saw the Empire State Building, and the gigantic white-glowing mountain floating above it.

In an unrelated matter, Ms. Kerr was a perky blonde woman from Alabama. She was not a monster.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once again, time began to blur together for Percy until it was finals week. Nothing exciting happened in this time between early May to its waning days. Although everyone was convinced that Ms. Kerr had been here since day one, but Percy couldn't have cared less. Classes, exercise, Bible, running, climbing, water powers, the usual. Now, most kids would be freaking out over finals, going themselves on caffeine and staying up late in the night to study material that they simply forgot come morning.

Not Percy. He did not care for these pointless exams, he did not care for this pointless institution, and he cared even less for the blind sheep that aimlessly wandered the halls. Funny thing was, he wasn't even going to be coming back next year. Mr. Bennet the history teacher managed to push a button—don't ask which one because Percy wasn't going to tell you—and the Assassin completely destroyed the man's life with extreme psychoanalysis, Sherlock Holmes-level observation about every minute detail, and a few choice curses in Arabic.

Bennet fled the Academy in tears, and returned two days later a shaky, blubbering, incoherent mess.

After his temper had cooled, Percy attempted to apologize and make honest amends; the teacher scrambled away every time he saw the boy approach.

Currently, we find our somewhat-antihero studying for his Latin exam, the only class he cared for if only because he was highly interested in Greco-Roman mythology, and because he had a measure of respect for Chiron the centaur teacher of old. While Percy did know a great deal of Greek mythology, he was humble enough to freely admit that there were a great many things he _did not_ know, which was why he was studying.

The problem was that his dyslexia decided to make it to where the letters upon the page seemed to be doing the "Cha-Cha Slide." Percy could practically hear the lyrics in his head as the letters and words shifted.

 _Sliiiiiiide to the left!_

 _Sliiiiiiide to the right!_

 _Criss-cross!_

 _Criss-cross!_

"Cha cha real smooth…" Percy muttered, then he paused. He vigorously shook his head at his own thought process, before deciding that this was not getting him anywhere. Putting on a shirt, Percy entered the silent halls of Yancy Academy, and wound his way to the faculty offices. All of them were dark, of course, except for, luckily, Mr. Brunner's.

Only the man was not alone, for Percy's advanced hearing detected the voice of Grover. Huh, and here the demigod thought the cripple was taking an extended shower.

"I'm worried about Percy, sir." Cocking a brow, the Assassin crept to the door, coming to stand right next to it, away from the light. Grover continued speaking. "I don't think he'll be safe alone this summer. I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more."

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline-"

"Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can."

"Sir, he saw her..."

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall."

It was sorely tempting to calmly push away the door, revealing himself to be standing there inspecting his nails and be like 'well hello there, fine gentlemen, I believe you owe me some answers,' but Percy was rather conservative at heart, and Malik's words from literally 800 years ago played in his mind.

" _Discretion, Altaїr!"_

Yes, discretion. Percy liked being sneaky and silent. There was a certain measure of power that came with knowing things others did not. In this instance, knowing that Brunner was Chiron and Grover was a satyr while they did not know he was Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Sensing that this conversation was over, Percy silently darted back to his dorm, abandoning his earlier mission of tutoring for a pondering of what he had just heard.

Flopping onto his bed, Percy quickly retrieved a notebook and a pen from his bag at the foot of his resting area, and went to work. Unconsciously, his legs curled up at ninety degree angles and crossed at the ankle in a feminine kind of way that Percy would forever deny to do doing.

Flipping open his notebook, he immediately began to write down what he knew.

Brunner=Chiron.

Grover=satyr.

Olympus=above ESB.

Kindly One=Dodds.

Summer solstice deadline=?

Mist=?

Grover 'failing again'=?

Okay...Grover's saying of 'failing again' meant that he had done something before, and, factoring in how he had made a supreme effort to befriend Percy and _only_ Percy, that 'something' most likely involved being friends with someone, but, seeing as how the centaur was in on this, whatever Grover was doing was bigger than simple friendship.

What could it be…?

Then there was the 'mist.' The way Chiron said it implied it was a proper noun, and what he said about implied it was some kind of mind-control type thing. Now, factoring in how after he felt that strange breeze back at the museum after he killed Dodds everyone was suddenly spouting nonsense about 'Ms. Kerr,' this mist was most likely indeed some kind of mind-control/hallucinogen/magical Greek thing that could alter minds.

That was all just a theory, of course.

Now, 'Kindly One.' Percy remembered this story: the Furies were Hades' top servants, and people going to the Underworld would often try to get on their good side, butter them up, suck up to them, brown nose them, etc., in order to get a lenient punishment for their misdeeds in life. Hence, calling the Furies 'Kindly Ones.'

Those were Percy's main theories for the easy parts. Now there was the matter of this summer solstice deadline. Percy did not know anything about that, obviously, but he did know that ever since the winter solstice, when he climbed the skyscraper, the weather had gone wonky. Actually, that was a clue to this puzzle.

Reports across America were generally about storms, earthquakes, capsizing-level waves, tornadoes, and small wild fires. Percy recalled several gods that could cause such things, the forefront of this list being Zeus, god of sky, lightning, rain etc., Poseidon, god of sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses, and Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, and hearth typically meant fire. Of course, there were many other gods that had domains revolving around the elements, but those three had domains that were more chief over the current weather phenomena.

Seeing as Hestia was always spoken of as a peaceful goddess, Percy ruled her out of the equation...then he remembered Demeter and her dominion over nature and the like, and how she caused a world-wide drought at one point. Droughts could cause wild fires. But that wasn't important. Technically.

Percy narrowed this down to Poseidon and Zeus. Brothers, rivals, gods, and sometimes bitter enemies. With all this freak weather happening, and factoring in that the storm cell that appeared during the field trip was centered over Olympus, Percy concluded that the brothers were having another spat. The question was what they were quarrelling over. Whatever it was, it was obvious that the deadline for this quarrel to end was the summer solstice.

But none of this answered the question over why Grover thought Percy should be involved, and why Chiron did not _want_ him to be involved.

Realizing that if he had never had that dream of Faris and acquired this higher level of mental capacity, Percy would have never got even halfway to this point of logical deconstruction. However, he was no genius and all of this higher-level thinking had burned through many of his brain cells tonight. With somewhat of a headache, Percy put his pen and notebook away in a place Grover wouldn't find it, and went to bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, Percy took his exams. The fluctuating words made his head hurt, and Yancy wasn't kind enough to provide him with a private room and a teacher to read him the questions, but he suffered through this ordeal with a strong will and a stronger faith in the Lord. There was nothing important to report, until the Latin exam, which took three hours of the eight-hour day.

Knowing in his heart that he did outstanding on this exam due to his vast knowledge of Greek and Roman mythology, Percy handed in his test an hour before the bell. After he was done here, he would pack his bags, board a bus, and return to his apartment where he would have words with Gabriel, but before this could transpire, Mr. Brunner attempted conversation.

"Percy, don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy."

The Assassin cocked a brow. "I'm not."

"It's...it's for the best. I mean...this isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

"I agree."

The coffee-smelling man seemed to get frustrated with something. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say is...you're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be-"

"I _know_."

That finally seemed to break through the centaur's head that Percy did not care about being expelled from Yancy Academy. Percy turned his back on the somewhat-stunned teacher, and headed for the door. Before he left, he had something for Chiron. And it made him giddy to say.

"Mr. Brunner?"

"Hm?"

"Since this is probably the last time I'll ever see you in my life, I want to you to remember something."

"Yes?"

Percy turned his head, looking at Chiron over his shoulder. His lone visible eye gleamed with mischief.

"Laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine."

The mug in the centaur's hand shattered upon the floor just as Percy disappeared out of the door. Mr. Brunner furiously rolled his way to the place the boy had just been, swiveling his head from side to side, his gaze peeling through the halls with all the fervor of a mad man, but Percy was nowhere to be found.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Percy would call Grover a friend, he was not close enough to feel any regret over not saying goodbye, and if Percy was being completely honest with himself, he was looking forward to getting home and seeing his mother...and dealing with Gabriel.

A shiver-inducing grin made its way of Percy's face when he thought of dealing with Gabriel.

Leaving Yancy was a short ordeal, and one that was done with a feeling similar to that of a great weight leaving him. Seriously, this place _sucked_. Percy navigated through the streets with an experience born from days of running through them, and easily found the cleanest/safest bus stop.

Just as the bus arrived, Percy heard a familiar voice, "Hey! Percy!"

"Oh, God, why?" the boy muttered.

Grover came crutching up in an Olympic-level display of speed. "I didn't know you lived in the city."

"Yes."

Percy found a seat next to a window and Grover sat next to him. When Percy said Grover was a friend, he meant that he was that one annoying friend that you could tune out and still host a conversation with. The bus ride was remarkably silent, with Grover continuing to glance up and down the aisle, clearly nervous.

A quick usage of Eagle Vision confirmed for Percy the absence of all manner of unsavory characters.

For no apparent reason, Grover suddenly fished out a business card. "Here. This is my summer address. Call me if you...if you need me, or something." After a few moments of deciphering the text, Percy made out the satyr's name, the word 'Keeper,' a rather interesting name for a hill, Long Island, and a phone number.

Percy looked at Grover, who was looking at him nervously. "This wouldn't have any relation to Camp Half-Blood, would it?"

The satyr's face of surprise couldn't have been better if had been practiced and captured by professional actors. "B-B-B-But...h-h-h-h-how...y-y-you…?"

Just then, the dashboard of the bus exhaled black smoke, releasing the smell of rotten eggs

"Fuck!" said the driver, who pulled the large vehicle to the shoulder of the highway. After a time of fiddling with the engine compartment, he announced that the bus would have to be evacuated, and so it was. Standing on the side of the country rode, Percy noticed, across four lanes of shimmering-with-heat asphalt, a fruit stand beneath a maple tree.

A fruit stand occupied by three elderly women knitting a large pair of socks with electric-blue yarn.

Percy stared at the women, and they seemed to stare back at him. Narrowing his eyes, the Assassin activated Eagle Vision-and shut it off just as fast as he turned it on. Good Lord, his retinas burned. Back when he was Faris and he came upon the Greek camp, and saw the glowing demigods, he saw auras of varying color and brightness. He took it as a measure of how powerful one demigod was over another.

He looked at those women, and he was blinded by their radiance.

Looking back at the deities, Percy saw that they were still looking at him, but now with something akin to amusement in their dark eyes. One of the women produced a pair of silver and gold shears from behind her back, and snipped the yarn of the socks, a sound which Percy heard loud and clear across four lanes of traffic.

The ladies began to roll up the socks, and the bus driver pulled a chunk of smoking metal out of the engine. With a shudder, the bus roared to life. The passengers cheered at the same time the drive slapped the bus with his hat. "Damn right!"

Grover tried tugging Percy into the bus, but the demigod did not spend months exercising late into the night for nothing. He easily resisted the efforts of the cripple, and continued his stare down of the fruit stand women. In a manner more out of a movie than anything else, a travel camper went cruising past, obscuring Percy's view of the stand.

When the camper cleared, the stand and the women were gone.

Percy rolled his eyes. How cliché.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Assassin ignored the panicking Grover the rest of the bus ride. In his anxiety, the cripple's bladder acted up, and at the next stop, he got off for a potty break after making Percy promise to wait for him. Percy grabbed his bag and exited the bus, then he proceeded to sprint his way nonstop all the way to his apartment complex in five minutes flat.

Stopping in front of the door, Percy could already smell the cigars and beer that were no doubt being consumed en masse by Gabriel and his fellow scum. Before entering, Percy prayed to his God to help keep his temper in check so that he would not murder the smelly sleaze, but if he did…may Gabe's reception into the afterlife be as cordial as possible, and the disposure of his body short, sweet, and simple.

With a deep breath, Percy entered his apartment.

Immediately did he notice the litter upon his living room floor, the stench of the room, worse now than on the other side of the door, Gabe himself on the couch, Eddie the Spineless, and two other pigs that Percy did not care for. Percy shut the door, intentionally loud, getting his desired attention.

"So, you're home," Gabe said. "Got any cash?"

"No."

"No?"

Percy gave the stinking thing a sideways glance. "I thought you sought to imitate a walrus with your new look. I apologize, Mr. Parrot."

Gabe's nostrils flared dangerously. Eddie absorbed himself into his popcorn, while the other two were neck deep in ESPN. They had yet to tear their eyes away from the screen. Not even their host's sudden departure from the couch was enough for them to return to their bodies.

Percy's smirk was hidden by the fact that his back was to the walrus. _'Far too predictable.'_

Gabe's meaty hand clamped down on the boy's shoulder and jerked him around. Any words the walrus was about to say died in his throat when he registered a flash of movement next to his eye, and suddenly he was acquainted to the feeling of cold wood pressing tightly against his temple. Glancing to the side, Gabe saw the yellow, hexagonal body of a No.2 pencil.

Following the pencil down, the fat man almost went number 2 when he saw the cold, freezing eyes of his stepson.

"Gabriel," Percy said, "Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. That is the name of the messenger of the Lord, and _you_ are no messenger; you are not even a man of God. Your name is unbefitting and misgiven. Regardless, you are still the man of this house, despite how much I may dislike it, therefore I allow you to live.

"However, there are stipulations for continued time on this earth, Gabriel Ugliano. My mother is not your slave, nor am I your personal bank. You treat my mother with much more respect from now on, and you will leave my wallet alone. You will clean yourself up, make yourself presentable, and go to work every day," Percy's eyes continued to bore deep into Gabe's soul, flaying it and dicing it up with ruthless precision.

"I called you the man of this house…if you do not make an attempt to present yourself as such, instead of the lazy slob that you are…you may find yourself as the new poster woman for the transgender cause." It was then that Gabe registered the sharp pressure against his genitals. Looking down, he saw another pencil poking his zipper. Then suddenly both pencils were gone.

"I hope for your sake that you heed my warning, Gabriel."

Now walking away, the walrus stared at his stepson's back, his knees knocking together. His mind drew a blank as to what to do next during its reboot. Gabe played the conversation over and over again in his mind, and finally, intelligent light returned to his glazed eyes.

It was the light of wrath.

How dare that little shit demand _anything_ of _him_! The _god_ of this house! The _lord_ of this entire apartment complex!

Snarling and sneering and growling like a beast of the ground, Gabe advanced upon his stepson, his massive weight and long stride combining to create a loud booming walk, which caused Percy's eyes to go from cold chips of ice, to freezing pieces of steel. Whirling around in a motion born from what felt like years of practice, the Assassin buried his fist into the fat man's gut.

Despite the pudgy armor, Gabe's wind made a mass exodus from his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees. Percy leaned down next to his ear, "Try something like that again, and I aim for the jugular, so help me God."

Gabe was without oxygen for too long, and he collapsed unconscious. Percy was not worried about this, however. The waste would be back on his feet within the next ten minutes. Now, Percy was able to retreat into his room in peace.

Opening the door, he wrinkled his nose at the horrid stench. _Dead bodies_ did not reek this much. Percy found a new reason to detest Gabe, and that reason came in the form of what the cretin had done to his(Percy's) room. Muddy boots on the windowsill, magazines and beer cans and cigarette butts strewn everywhere, and Percy's belongings shoved into the cramped closet.

The Assassin's gut tightened slightly, and he became aware of all the plumbing in the complex. It took a great effort not let his frustration out, and cause the entire building to flood. Still, a few breaths later and Percy was dropping his bag and flopping down onto his bed.

In regards to Gabe's earlier inquiry over his possession of cash, Percy had lied. He was loaded. Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, the boy took note of a handsome amount of green within, and it was a handsome amount of everything between fives and fifties. See, not all of Percy's runs had been eventless aside from the odd police call and person snagging at his jacket only to be yanked to ground; there had been several instances where things had gotten messy.

Messy as in he had been thrown into an alley.

It was never anyone serious, just some high school dropouts or common street thugs that had dealings with the cartels, gangs, or mafias. Percy took them as an opportunity to test his combat skills on living, breathing targets. No, he had not killed anyone (because modern technology made it difficult to get away with such an act) but he had taken a few spoils from the broken and groaning bodies of his attackers.

Namely, any money they in their wallets.

Percy considered good compensation for what they tried to do to him, and what they had no doubt done to many others in the past. Besides, Percy had only taken the cash, leaving the thugs with any credit cards, debit cards, ID's, and car keys that they had on them. Percy also justified his looting by thinking himself as a punisher from God sent to take a small chunk of flesh out of those who did a wrong too small for travesty, but too large for ignorance.

At the end of his reminiscing, as if she had been waiting for his mind to become still, Percy's mother calmly entered his room. For the first time in months, the boy _smiled_. It was not a grin of triumph, a grin of glee, or a smirk of superiority over some sheep, but a true smile that belonged on the face of a child.

"Mom…"

"Oh, Percy, I can't believe it! You've grown so much these past months!"

"Yes, I suppose I have."

Only Sally had no idea just what that meant, nor would she ever. At least, at this point in time Percy would never tell his mother about the Brotherhood. His expert fighting skills, climbing ability, past life, and Eagle Vision would all be secrets kept close to his chest. Sally was not an Assassin, and, call him paranoid or whatever you like, she had no business knowing about the Creed. Besides, ever since he could remember, he had been a private child, and so Sally would not waste her time trying to pry open a titanium bunker.

The Jackson matriarch sat beside her son, her baby, and gently pulled his upper body into her lap, and began to calmly and gently run her hand through his hair. A strange, foreign feeling welled up in Percy's chest, and he quickly deduced the reasoning behind this emotion.

Faris Ibn-La'Ahad.

The man had been motherless from day one, so he did not know what the love of a mother was, did not know what her touch felt like, what her presence was like, what her soothing voice sounded like, nothing. If it had an inkling of maternity somewhere revolving around it, it was a stranger to Faris. Then, Faris was seemingly thrust into the future into the body of a child that _did_ have a mother, had memories of a mother, and had experience with a mother.

The foreign emotions of the ancient Assassin were being transposed onto Percy via the Bleeding Effect.

Percy didn't particularly like that, and Sally picked up on this discomfort.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Is there something bothering you?"

Percy was quick to devise something that was not related to his past life. "I was wondering if you ever got my Christmas present."

Sally stopped playing with his hair. "Oh, the Book of Proverbs? Of course I got it, sweetheart."

"Did you read it?" Percy could hear the hard contractions of his mother's throat as the muscles forced down a large collection of saliva.

"No, baby, I…I haven't."

"Oh," it was with ease that Percy put false disappointment in his voice, but he was hardly surprised. "Hey, Mom?"

Sally's eyes brightened at the prospect of a subject change. "Hm?"

"Why haven't we ever gone to church?"

That little light died instantly. "Oh. Well, you see, Percy, I…I just-"

"Does it have to do with Dad?"

It was verbal bait; a test of Sally's ability to tell the truth. Offering up something like this…Percy forgot if there was an actual term for what he was doing, beyond 'verbal bait,' but the concept was simple: introducing a false understanding of the situation would prompt Sally to do two things. Either A) finally reveal the truth after a sigh and a moment of mental collection to rid Percy of his ignorance, or B) immediately jump on the easy way out and spin a story revolving around his father.

Sally stared at her son for a moment, before sighing and closing her eyes. It seemed Option A was the winner here.

"Yes, Percy, us not going to church is because of your father." Sally sighed again. "I used to believe in God, but everyone I loved continued to be taken from me. My parents, my aunts, uncles, grandparents…all gone. Then I met your father. I thought that this was God's way of making up for everything he took away, but…but it wasn't so. Your father went out to sea one day, and was reported lost, and I haven't seen him since. When he left and never came back, and I discovered I was pregnant and jobless, struggling to get a degree, I…I lost my faith for good. I haven't taken you to a service because I'm not going to make you sit next to a nonbeliever."

Sally's eyes were a bit watery at the end of her tale, and Percy detected a strange mixture of truth and lies…he was pretty sure that was called deceit. No, he did not doubt the deaths of any of his extended family, no, he did doubt that his mother had lost her faith after a string of intense hardships coupled with extreme emotional stress, no he did not doubt his father left his mother upon his conception. What he did doubt about this tale was the 'lost at sea' part.

As far as excuses for absent fathers went, that particular one was pretty far out there…no pun intended.

There was much more to Percy's mysterious father than what was let on, and there was far more to the whole 'lost at sea' business than what was told. Percy had a theory about just who is father was, and it was a theory built upon several pieces of the otherwise obscure puzzle. If this theory was correct, it would explain why the boy had powers over water and had a migraine every time he denied the existence of Greek gods.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"God gave you me."

A little bit wider, and Sally's eyes would've fallen out of her skull. The woman's mouth opened and closed like that of a fish as she struggled to regrasp reality after having her perception of the world shattered by four simple little words. However, her mind was put on a track after Gabe's voice was heard.

"Sally! Make me some-I mean, would you please make me some bean dip?"

Sally blinked. "Did he just say please?"

"I had a talk with him. I think he'll be a bit nicer from now on…hopefully."

The woman gave her son The Eye. "Percy. What did you do?"

"Nothing," the boy chirped innocently.

Sally gave him a dubious look, but she shook her head nonetheless. "I have a surprise for you, you naughty boy. We're going to the beach."

A small light appeared in Percy's eyes. "Montauk?"

"The same cabin-three nights."

"When?"

Sally smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

Then Gabe materialized at Percy's door. "Bean dip, did you hear-"

Percy's eyes met those of the walrus.

"I-I mean, ah-hem, would you please make some dip?"

Sally smiled. "Of course, honey. After that, Percy and I will be leaving for our trip."

Gabe's eyes went small, but once again, the cold, green orbs of his stepson laid the man's soul out to be judged. "R-Right. Um, be careful with my car, please. Uh, thank you."

The walrus scurried away.

Sally looked at Percy, and the boy shrugged. "I had a really good talk with him."

"Uh-huh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While the Montauk beach cabin was hardly anything to be proud of, with its being half-sunken into the sand, the bedsheets being tainted with sand, the floor typically covered in a layer of sand, sand being in the cabinets, and sand being in the bathroom, on top of the occasional spider in the cabinet.

Long story short, this was not a place Anakin Skywalker would've found appealing.

Percy thought this place was a blast.

It was night now, and he and his mother had started on the beach. The glow of the flames provided illumination and heat in equal measure. The sound of the surf was but a soft whisper to them as the mother-son pair roasted marshmallows and hotdogs. Not liking this silence, Percy started conversation.

"What are we going to do about school next year? Another boarding school?"

Sally looked pained. "I don't know, sweetie. We'll…we'll have to do something."

"Why always a boarding school?" Percy probed. "Why not a public one?"

"Reasons, sweetie. Boarding schools…being away…it's for your own good."

"Me being away wouldn't have anything to with Greek monsters attacking me, would it?"

Sally choked on the marshmallow she had just put in her mouth. Percy deadpanned at his mother's behavior, and then deeply frowned when she finally coughed up the sugary menace, and turned it into a projectile that hit him in the face. Percy wiped himself clean with a nearby napkin.

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?"

On the opposite side of the open flame, the light flickering across his face, Percy's shifting countenance sent shivers down Sally's back. She loved her son, dearly, but she was also afraid of him. Had always been, really. His bleak outlook on life, his cynical views, the way his eyes would darken when he was displeased with something. He was his father's son, alright, and that could be a very scary thing.

"I'm talking about how my Latin teacher was a centaur, my dormmate was a satyr, and my math teacher was a Fury…up until I killed her and certain individuals used the mist to make everyone think that Ms. Kerr had been there since day one."

In the firelight, Sally's face perfectly reflected the colors due to her pale visage.

"So…who's my father again?"

Lightning flashed overhead, thunder following shortly after. Sally was so obviously relieved for the sudden weather distraction that Percy felt his heart ache at the knowledge that his own mother willingly lied to him on a daily basis. With haste, Sally ushered her son into the cabin, and using the late hour as an excuse, put him to bed saying that they would talk more tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy dreamt that night.

It was a simple dream, with a stormy night, a white horse and a golden eagle fighting at the edge of the surf. The Assassin stood where he was, content to let the animals battle it out. He was no fool, he knew that the horse represented Poseidon and the eagle Zeus, and this phenomenon proved that there was a pagan feud going on, and it was centered around the Greek gods.

The only thing that Percy felt concerned over was the rumbling voice that came from below

" **You! I sent you to the past to** _ **die**_ **! How are you here!?"**

Cocking a brow, while also making a connection between himself, Faris, and this mysterious voice, Percy leveled a hard stare at the ground. "The will of the Lord."

The voice roared in anger, and the Assassin's eyes snapped open just in time to see his mother standing about three feet away with her hand outstretched to wake him. Judging by the sounds from outside, there was an actual storm raging. On top of the sounds of the raging storm, Percy heard a distant bellowing like that of a cow, a clip-clop like that of a donkey across the sand, and then rapid banging at the cabin door.

Sally was there in a heartbeat, throwing open the door. Percy was unsurprised to see Grover…without pants, exposing his satyr legs. Briefly wondering how the cripple had gotten here in the rain, or even how he knew where this cabin was, Percy was already out of bed with his clothes on. He could sense it was time to leave.

" _Zeus and other gods!"_ Grover screamed over the storm. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

"Yes. She put me to bed with the promise of an explanation tomorrow."

"Oh."

There was that distant moo again.

Sally paled, then she ran off to grab her purse and her son's rain jacket, returned, and threw said rain jacket over Percy's head. His visible lower face morphed into a frown.

"Both of you. Car. Now!" Sally commanded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Driving through the storm, Percy activated his Eagle Vision. The darkness of the storm became meaningless as everything became a light blue. In the distance, Percy saw a very large red thing approach. Based on its shape, it was a humanoid bull. The Assassin's eyes went hard.

The Minotaur, most likely, but why?

Percy sat quietly in the backseat, content to let his mother drive like a madwoman through a storm and through the countryside, past farm houses, picket fences, and rolling hills. Grover kept muttering to himself, "always sixth grade, always sixth grade," Sally kept her eyes glued to the front, and Percy was mentally reviewing his knowledge of human anatomy. In a fight against a beast such as the one following him, head-on was not the appropriate strategy.

Strike at the joints, the nerve clusters, the unprotected organs. Use mind over matter.

Sally suddenly swerved to the right to avoid something, and when Percy looked back, Eagle Vision slicing through the nighttime storm, he saw the angry red glow of a Fury. Not the same one as Ms. Dodds, a different one. Don't ask Percy how he knew that this Fury was not his previous math teacher, but he _did_ know. Using what angles he had, Percy swiveled his gaze around the sky, looking for more Furies and assorted monsters.

He found none; only the Minotaur still a distance behind.

The Fury was gone.

"One more mile," Sally muttered from the front. "Please, please, please-"

BOOM

…

With a vicious snarl belonging to a predator, Percy peeled his forehead off the driver's headrest. Bright light, jarring impact, the familiar weightlessness of jumping from one beam to another, more jarring impact, and the feeling of rain water coming in from above. Looking up, Percy was not happy to see the gigantic hole in the Camaro roof, the edges burning and sizzling.

Lightning bolt.

The fuck was Zeus playing at here?

Luckily, the car had managed to land on its wheels, making exit simple. With a grunt, and a feat of strength born from months of exercise and supernatural power, Percy kicked his door straight off the hinges, and hauled Grover out with him.

Percy found his Mom nursing a bleeding head wound, bracing herself against the side of the ruined car. She was delirious, concussed, nauseas, and looked ready to collapse. Sally would be of no help from this point on.

In another dimension, one where Percy had crimson eyes and wore a black cloak adorned with red clouds, he would've considered Sally to be dead weight, and move on. Not this Percy; not this one where he believed in the Word, loved his mother, and followed the Creed.

The Assassin heaved Grover over his shoulder into a fireman's carry, using one arm to hold him in place, and he used his free hand to grab his mom's wrist and tug her along. With the power of Eagle Vision, Percy could see a large white dome over the area in front of him, and the gigantic pine tree glowed with such a pure radiance that night was day.

Percy also noticed that at the base of the pine there was a small tinge of electric blue.

Food for thought later, because the Minotaur was getting closer.

Fueled by an intense drive to get to the tree, Percy thundered forward. Weight and fatigue became nonfactors. Adrenaline surged through his small body, empowering him beyond the norm. Furthering his strength was the rain. It soaked into body, giving him even more power. As he approached the hill, carrying Grover on his back and dragging his mother along by the wrist as if _she_ was the child, Percy thanked God for being able to make it safely.

In fact, Percy made it so well that he actually reached the top of the hill and passed the white barrier…then his mother was no longer being held in his grasp.

Whirling with panic on his face, Grover still on his back, Percy failed to understand just what had happened. One minute, Sally was held tight in his hand, the next, she was yanked away was strewn on the ground, unconscious. For a concussion victim, unconscious was not a good thing to be. Postponing thought on trying to figure this out, Percy dropped Grover, and exited the barrier.

He was at his mother's side quickly, but a loud screeching caused his instincts to fire and send him into a diving roll. He felt a massive disturbance of air right above him, and looked up to see the same Fury from earlier…swooping off with Sally in its claws.

The claws were dripping with red.

" _No!"_

Lightning flashed brightly, creating shadows, blinding Percy for a second. When vision returned, the Fury and Sally were gone, but the blood trail in the dirt was still there. Wrath engulfed the son of Poseidon, and his emotions combined with the endless downpour of rain to create give the boy Power.

The Minotaur arrived, bellowing. It's nose rapidly twitched, alluding to a sense of smell that trumped its eyesight. His head snapped to where the seething demigod stood, and he got down on all fours. With another bellow, one that seemed to shake the earth this time, the monster charged. Its horns were aimed to gore Percy…but the demigod was having none of that.

Just before he reached the boy, the Minotaur's eyes widened when he saw a robed man behind his target, a deep frown on his features.

Percy's arms snapped up, grabbing the bull-man by its horns. The force behind the creature pushed Percy back, his shoes digging trenches into the dirt. Eventually, the momentum halted, and the Minotaur was left still. The stillness lasted less than a thousandth of a second, because with a roar of Wrath, the demigod slammed the bull-man's head into a nearby tree, exposing the neck.

Rearing back his arm, Percy flexed his wrist, causing his Hidden Blade to sprout. Unconsciously, he commanded the water to coalesce around the pencil, and semi-solidify into an actual blade, instead of wood and lead. He stabbed down, but the Minotaur was not finished yet. His meaty arms surged up, grabbing Percy, and he threw the boy away.

Percy slammed into a tree, the force from the monster causing him to crack the bark, but otherwise he was unharmed. The Minotaur charged, this time on two legs. He got close, and he punched at Percy's face. In a display of extreme strength, the boy's hand rose, and stopped the monster's fist _cold_.

The Minotaur's eyes widened again when he saw the robed man from before, his hand on top of the boy's as he stared deep into the monster's red eyes.

On Percy's other hand, his Water Blade was still active, and this time the monster was too stunned to react properly. The liquid blade extended as it was thrust up at the jugular, and with a loud boom, it cleaved through bone, muscle and flesh like all of it was but mere paper. The Minotaur gurgled, seeing as how he just been impaled through the jugular and brain. His read eyes rolled about, before becoming still as life left his body.

With a grunt, Percy wrenched his blade free by doing a 180 twist, causing a mist of red to explode from the Minotaur's fatal wound. The creature violently crashed to the ground, dead, his body fading into dust soon after, leaving only his horns behind.

Then, as if someone had just shut off the water works, the rain ceased to fall, and with its end, Percy's strength left him, and he collapsed. Before his consciousness left him, he saw the robed man smiling proudly at him.

"Well done, Percy. Remember that God is always with you, no matter who you are birthed to.

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 _ **I have discovered the key to reviews: April Fools' Day.**_

 _ **I am terribly sorry (not) for duping all of you like that, although there were quite a few who saw through me. If you thought I was really leaving, and then were wounded when it was just an April Fools' joke, then I am sorry.**_

 _ **Anyway, I've got quite the dilemma on my hands. I have reached a good stopping point for this story. Now, is it time for my youngest girl to take a short nap on the shelf while I return to her sisters? If not, should I continue with PJO content, or go into the Second Life arc?**_

 _ **Let me know what you think should happen with a Review, and don't forget to Fav and Follow please!**_


	11. A Christian Among Pagans: Part One

_A Christian Among Pagans: Part One_

 _ **Alright, due to an almost unanimous sentiment of not putting this on the shelf yet, here we are. However, I also recognize the need to go back to my other stories and begin further work on those. Therefore, here's the deal:**_

 _ **This chapter will focus on Percy's first days at Camp, ending with the CTF event. After the claiming, Percy will go to the Big House because he sees glowing lights and flashing symbols (the Sword), and when he touches the Sword, it will trigger him going into a mini-coma, which will officially kick off the Second Life arc. After the arc, I will be taking a break from this fic, and return to her sisters for a time.**_

 _ **With that now said, Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

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 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

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 _June 6, 2006_

 _Camp Half-Blood_

 _The morning after Percy slaughtered the Minotaur_

In another life, the son of Poseidon would've spent days in a coma as his body recovered from such a sudden use of such large amounts of divine power. A twelve-year-old defeating the Minotaur was no small task, especially for one who had just come into his godly heritage, but this Percy, this reincarnate Percy, had been in touch with his powers for half a year now, and as such, was much more 'in-shape' than so many billions of other Percys.

Because of this, when one Annabeth Chase bent over to put the feeding straw of some nectar to Percy's lips, he shot wide awake. The biggest problem was, his freshest memory was of his battle with the Minotaur, and his mother being either killed or taken, and a sense of all-encompassing rage. Moreover, he woke up in an unknown environment, surrounded by unknown people, with an unknown girl trying to feed him an unknown substance.

All of this tied back to the biggest problem, and the biggest problem was that Percy woke up from a battle…still thinking he was in the middle of a battle.

And an Assassin in battle mode, surrounded entirely by unknowns, therefore _no innocents_ , was a very lethal machine.

Percy's hand shot up with blinding speed, knocking the foreign glass away from him. This movement caused the sheet to fly up, therefore the blonde girl was caught entirely off-guard, not that she wasn't already stunned through her shorts, by the fist that met her cheek. The blonde went crashing to ground, and Percy was already moving.

As he sprang to his feet, he noted that he seemed to be processing things in slow motion. With this higher cognition, the boy noticed several things. He was in what appeared to be a hospital ward, with a few more beds lining both walls. Only one other was occupied. The floors were hardwood, the walls and ceiling were white, and the support beams in the middle of this room were also painted white. There windows, all with various things along the sills, and all of them showed some kind of farm outside.

Moreover, Percy saw that more hostiles were rushing at him.

His free hand, the one not grabbing a fist full of pristine white sheet, snapped out, grabbing the now-empty glass of liquid, its contents having splashed everywhere. Spinning on the ball of his foot, the boy smashed the glass against the head of the first hostile, a dark-skinned boy with dreads, knocking him out like a light. Still moving, still tracking the hostiles, Percy swiped with his other hand, causing the sheet in his grasp to whack the incoming brunette girl in the face, sending her off-balance. Whipping his upper body back around, Percy's fist met the girl's shins, and she went down hard, smacking her face into the hardwood floor.

His gaze snapping up, Percy threw the sheet into the face of the second boy, then spun around to where he was on the opposite side of a support beam. The boy, distracted by the sheet and his vision obscured, stumbled forward, and got viciously close-lined when Percy whipped around the support beam, muscular arm extended. The Assassin didn't know it, but he had just taken down a daughter of Athena and three children of Apollo, all four of them with multiple years of training under their belts, in less than ten seconds.

But the battle was not over, and Percy still wasn't thinking straight.

He looked up just in time to bring his hands up to block a fist aimed at his face. Body still reacting instead of thinking, Percy grabbed the offending wrist with one hand, jerked it back, while sending his other hand crashing into the gut of whoever was attacking him with such force that they doubled over with an audible 'UGH!'. The person now sufficiently stunned, Percy turned around, his hand still on the person's wrist, and brought the arm across his shoulder.

Then he jerked down with all that he had.

The person collapsed to the ground, arm bent at a very wrong angle, with a groan. That's when Percy noticed that the person was covered in eyes. Many eyes. Eyes for days. The boy blinked at this, trying to wrap his head around this phenomenon. How was this possible?

...wait a second.

Minotaur, Fury, Chiron the centaur, Dodds the Fury, Grover the satyr, a special summer camp, a man with eyes covering his body, existence of Greek gods…oh shit. Percy darted over to a window, and saw the same sights as he had a literal lifetime ago. U-shaped cabins, lava wall, forge, farm area, children in orange. Yep, this was Camp Half-Blood, and then those kids he just beat up…well, he could've still had his Hidden Blades on his wrists.

Could've been a lot worse.

Now that he thought about it, Percy just realized he wasn't wearing _his_ clothes. The jeans were freshly laundered, and felt newer than the ones he was wearing twenty-four hours ago. He also wasn't wearing his blue shirt, nor his white hoodie. He was wearing an orange tee with the words…brace yourselves…Camp Half-Blood boldly emblazoned across the front in white.

Then other things caught up to Percy. The strength he possessed when he fought the Minotaur, the fact that his mother was elsewhere, possibly taken by a pagan, possibly in the arms of God, his Hidden Blades were not anywhere near him, and the guy with the eyes was Argus, created by Hera to protect a cow from Zeus.

"Uhhhhh…"

Percy slowly looked down at the pile of semi-dead bodies. None of them were stirring, since Argus was unconscious, most likely due to pain. So who was groaning? The answer came in the form of the blonde girl's arm shooting up from the opposite side of the bed, coming down on top of the mattress, and the hauling herself up with a twitching eye…and a green bruise on her cheek.

"Ow."

Percy had the decency to smile somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I have a bad tendency to use barely-less than lethal force when fist-fighting hostiles."

The girl's eye twitched some more. "What about us…came off…as _hostile_?" she asked tersely.

"Nothing really, just the fact that I don't know where I am, who any of you are, and my last memories are of my mother being kidnapped by a Fury and me killing the Minotaur with a pencil."

The girl stared at him with a wide-eyed expression.

"My name's Percy Jackson. You?"

"…Annabeth…Annabeth Chase…"

Percy activated Eagle Vision, and saw that the girl's aura was grey. "You wouldn't happen to be a daughter of Athena, would you?"

Annabeth gasped. "H-How…?"

"Lucky guess." Then Percy noticed something that he hadn't noticed before, and a new sense of panic engulfed. "Where's my Bible?"

The question jolted Annabeth out of her shock over the situation, because her face screwed up into one of a strange mix of confusion and sneer. "A bible? What would a half-blood like us need a bible for?"

Percy stared at the blonde. 'A half-blood like us'…that answered the question of where Percy's hydrokinesis came from, but not the one regarding his Bible. So he reiterated. "Where is my Bible?"

"Percy, was it? You're a Greek demigod. You have no business reading a book like that."

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To the onlookers of Camp Half-Blood, those that were milling around, or running errands, or heading to the bathroom, or whatever their business was, they saw the new kid come thundering out of the infirmary with a face to match his pace. His eyes darted around as he moved, before he zeroed in on the Big House, and angled his course in that direction.

Shortly after this, Annabeth Chase came running out of the infirmary, a nasty bruise on her cheek, a panicked look on her face. A few curious people took a quick peek inside the camp's personal hospital, and their jaws dropped at seeing Lee Fletcher, Austin Lake, and Kayla Knowles unconscious on the ground with visible wounds that were eerily similar to those doled out by the children of Ares during CTF. They also saw Argus, the hundred-eyed security guard, lying on his side, all eyes closed, his arm bent at a sickening angle.

Those who looked in the infirmary found their gazes slowly turning to the retreating back of the new kid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eagle Vision was such a useful little power. With it, Percy didn't have to waste time scouring the grounds for his old (ancient) friend. Just a quick glance around, and the giant farm house was glowing a conspicuous gold. So that's where Percy went. He attracted attention, of course, since it wasn't every day a twelve-year-old made a war path for a building (and there bound to be some backlash later about beating up those people, but he would deal with that later), especially the new kid.

There was also no telling what these pagan children knew. They might know who his 'godly' parent was (still digesting that), they might know his mother is missing, they might know he killed the Minotaur, and they might know he's a Christian. Bottom line, Percy got some stares as he made his way for the farmhouse.

Walking up the front steps to the wooden porch, Percy saw Chiron, in a wheelchair, Grover, nervous and sweating, and an unknown man wearing a hideous leopard-print shirt sipping a can of Diet Coke, all playing a card game. Using Eagle Vision on the man revealed a very intense purple aura, one that swirled and calmly lashed about at nothing. So this is what a pagan god looked like.

Percy was unimpressed, and he wasn't here to bow to false gods.

"Chiron, where's my Bible?"

His sudden appearance startled all but the pagan, with Chiron simply flinching, and Grover making a grand display of throwing his chair back, throwing his cards into the air, and falling to his butt. The pagan took a sip from his Coke.

"A Bible? That's one I haven't heard in a few centuries. I thought Christianity was a dying religion."

Percy stared at the god for a good, long, terrifying while.

The pagan glanced at the boy. "What?"

Percy stared for a while longer, then he shook his head. "You poor unfortunate soul," he muttered so quickly it was hard to hear him, then he said louder, "Chiron. Bible. Where it be?"

"Ah! Yes, come along with me, Mr. Jackson."

Just then, Annabeth came running in, gasping for breath. Grover acknowledged her presence first. "Oh my gods! Annabeth, your cheek!"

"Huh? Oh yeah…you can thank Percy here for that."

The pagan took another swig of his coke, while Chiron paled slightly. "Explain, child."

Annabeth was quick to recount how Percy had violently awoken from his slumber, proceeded to catch her by surprise and then go on to beat the living crap out of Lee, Austin, Kayla, and Argus. The Assassin made a side note to go apologize to those people later. God, that was going to be awkward: Hey, I'm the kid that knocked you out; sorry about that, I thought you were an enemy.

Would it be that easy? Percy's ADHD mind began to wonder. Would they want something in compensation, demand some kind of act be done? Would they just let it slide with a firm handshake and a broad smile? Does this place have some kind of disciplinary system? If it did, what did it entail? The Ancient Greeks were really creative with their punishments-

"Boy, if you do not return back to this plane of existence this instant, I will turn you into a dolphin."

The glaze disappeared from Percy's eyes, and he was immediately on Chiron's case. " _Bi-ble,"_ he overenunciated.

"Right. Grover, you'll be fine. Annabeth, please take my spot at the table while I talk with Mr. Jackson here alone."

"But-"

" _Now_ , Ms. Chase."

The blonde gulped nervously. The pagan smirked. "My, I haven't heard you use a voice that stern since the Great War."

Chiron exhaled, "Indeed." Then he was rising out of his wheelchair, revealing his horse half. Percy cocked a brow. So, that's how that worked. Okay then. The centaur nodded to the boy, and began to lightly trot away from the farmhouse to where saw the edge of the white dome around the camp. Percy followed swiftly.

The two found a place to converse behind a tree, away from the prying eyes of everyone.

Chiron coughed awkwardly. "Ah, Percy, it is-"

"Bible. Give. Now."

The centaur felt a wave of disturbance slither through him. The way that Percy continued to demand for his Bible, the pointed look, the clipped tone, those piercing eyes…Chiron had seen this behavior correspond more with _daughters_ of the Big Three than their sons. Last time Chiron checked, the child before him was male, but if his hunch about the boy's father was correct, then, well…there was this one child of Poseidon, many, many years ago, who had inherited the strange power to adapt abilities from all manner of sea life.

Said child was a bit of a sociopath, who found a strange amusement in using the ability of the clownfish to alter their gender on a whim, and then proceeding to screw with anyone present. Chiron prayed Percy would not be like _that_ child…assuming Percy is a son of Poseidon, of course.

Still, Chiron had found the all-important Bible in the wreckage of the car that Zeus had no doubt destroyed, and had kept it safe with him until he and Percy could have some one-on-one time. Reaching into his jacket, the old teacher brought the child's Bible.

Percy's face lit up in equal parts relief and excitement. "Thank you," he said, as he reverently accepted the book. Staring at the simple black cover with a cross stamped onto its center, Percy ran his hand over the Bible, before he looked up at Chiron. "I trust you have a few questions, then?"

"Yes. How do you know Arabic?"

"I learned it in a dream I had about a Middle-Eastern man who lived in the late 12th century."

"I see, and what was this man's name?"

"Faris Ibn-La'Ahad."

Chiron went still, but his face conveyed that he was not surprised. "Nothing is True…"

"…and Everything is Permitted. So, centaur, how have you been these past 800 years?"

"Faris," Chiron breathed, "is that…is it really you?"

"Yes and no. After Faris died, he wasn't allowed into Heaven on the grounds that God still had work for him to do. On the first day of school, I took a nap in class, and dreamt of his entire life. I woke up, and everything was different."

"Reincarnation, then?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. Hey, how did all the demigods react to you teaching them about the Creed?" A stormy look of such dark emotion crossed Chiron's face that Percy almost felt threatened.

"The youngest son of Kronos is a fickle and petty being, a powerful one, for sure, but petty nonetheless. Minutes, _mere minutes_ , after you left and gave me the Sword, the god descended from Olympus, demanding that I give it to him."

Percy paled. "Tell me you didn't-"

"I almost did. As much as I didn't want to, he is still the King of Olympus, and one does not simply disobey someone like that, but as I handed the Sword over, another's hand touched the blade. The third hand belonged to a very powerful individual, I believe you would know him best as Michael."

Percy's eyes widened.

"The King, petty as he was, tried to fight the archangel…and promptly had his divine posterior handed to him on a silver platter. Michael soon left, but not before decreeing that it was God's will that I keep the Sword in my possession. Amazingly, the King let that issue to rest, but he was still throwing a tantrum at not getting his toy, and being told he could never _have_ his toy.

"So, he decided to wipe all minds of the Templar attack, the Sword, and you, while also making me swear on the River Styx to never tell any Grecian entity of those events, and to not teach _anyone_ of the wisdom you imparted unto to me that night."

Percy stared at the Chiron with a horrified expression. "That's disgusting!"

' _More so if the person in question is your uncle.'_

"That's…that's…ugh! I can't even put into words…! What's the River Styx?"

Chiron snorted at the sudden ADHD moment of the boy. "It is a river that upon swearing in the name of, you create a binding oath to. To break this oath is to incur drastic repercussions. For example, I swear on the River Styx that I am a centaur."

Thunder cracked in the cloudless sky.

Percy blinked. "And what happens if you break an oath?"

"It's up in the air, really. It depends on how the River is feeling. Your punishment can be anything from explosive diarrhea, to gruesome death."

Percy paled. "Then, Chiron…your previous oath…"

"Ah, but I'm not talking to a Greek entity, am I? I'm talking to a Christian one."

"Ah, a loop hole. Smart."

Chiron smiled. "I agree. So, Percy…you were a mortal in a past life, and in this one you are a demigod of…pagan decent."

"You're wondering how this affects my faith."

"I am."

"I already told you, old man," Percy smiled. "God loves all of us in equal measure. Whoever my father is has no bearing on that. Besides, God's already shown that he has some favor for us pagans, since he didn't tell Michael to end Zeus 800 years ago."

Chiron's eyes widened, before his face morphed once more into a smile. "Here I am, over three-thousand years old, and am still being taught by those far younger than me. Come, my old friend, let' get you situated in camp."

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Chiron and Percy returned to the camp grounds. As they passed the Big House, as the centaur called it, the two noticed the absence of Grover, Annabeth, and the pagan, Dionysus, more commonly called Mr. D by the campers. Chiron asked Percy to be as respectful to the wine god as his religion allowed...which really wasn't that much respect. Still, that did not mean that Percy could not be cordial to Dionysus.

Before they completely passed the wooden structure, Chiron trotted back into the house, and returned with a box. He handed it to Percy, who looked inside, and he raised a brow. "Bull horns?"

"Spoils of war. Courtesy of Pasiphae's son."

"Mm."

Percy wasn't exactly pleased to be handed a reminder that his mother had just been taken from him. The two continued on, and it was either that news of last night had been passed around, or everyone knew about the infirmary, because the Assassin was on the receiving end of many stares. Wherever they went, all activity seemed to die in favor of silent staring.

Chiron ignored this in favor of giving a seminar over the entire layout. The forge (Percy would be visiting that soon), the armory, the arena, the stables, the strawberry fields, the amphitheater, the canoeing lake, the javelin range, the lunch pavilion, and finally, the cabins. It was easy to tell which cabin belonged to which god, so Percy regrettably tuned out Chiron's lecture in favor of staring at the hearth.

Or to be more precise, the young girl tending to the flames. Under the scrutiny of Eagle Vision, she was much like Dionysus in that he aura was intense and swirling about, but this one's aura was much...calmer. More peaceful. Her color was similar to those of the flames, but unlike the children of Hephaestus, whose auras were bright and searing, like a forge, hers were duller, like a fire that had reached the middle point between going out and blazing.

Interesting.

Percy, still using Eagle Vision, turned his gaze to the cabins. They all glowed their respective colors, with Zeus' being electric blue, Hera's being a strange ivory, Poseidon's being sea green, Athena's being stormy gray, Ares' being red, Aphrodite's being pink, Hephaestus's being like a raging fire, Apollo's a dazzling sunlight yellow, Artemis' a bright silver (just like that woman's from so long ago), Demeter's a forest green, Hermes' a light blue, and Dionysus's a royal purple. Then, a strange phenomenon took place.

The glows of the cabins died away, all becoming the regular gray of non-important places, except for the cabin of Poseidon. The long, flat building of stone and coral glowed a bright gold. And when you've used Eagle Vision for as long as Percy had, you did not ignore places that were glowing gold. So the boy opened the door.

The smell of the sea breeze assaulted his senses. Inside was a basic layout of six bunk beds, pristine sheets, some lamps, a back wall that most likely had bathrooms and baths behind it, and the entire cabin had floors and walls that had the same consistency as abalone shells. It was a nice place, not too boring, not too extravagant. Percy personally thought it was a homey place.

Then Chiron's hand was on his shoulder. "Come along, Percy."

"You know I can control water, right?"

The centaur looked pained. "Please don't say that aloud."

"Why?"

"Reasons, Percy."

Whatever the reason, the boy decided to let it rest, since it was clearly a sensitive subject for the old teacher. The two continued the tour in a comfortable silence. Most of the cabins were crowded with campers, with the Ares one being host to a large girl that gave Percy a sneer. Percy gave her his patent bone-chilling stare. The girl gulped and looked away. The only other cabin that was of note was the Apollo cabin, and that was because three of its tenants had ice packs on their heads, and all three of them stared silently at Percy.

"Hey, Chiron, is there some kind of disciplinary system here?"

"You are wondering if there will be repercussions for your assault on Annabeth and the children of Apollo."

"Yes."

"Well, to answer your question, no. Not officially, at least. Punishment for anything is typically resolved between the campers themselves, whether it be through combat, a prank war, or attempted murder."

"Oh, nothing to worry about then."

"Of course, if Dionysus so chooses, he can dole out any sentence he desires."

"Uh-huh."

Chiron gained a gleam in his eye. "I do wonder...you follow the Christian faith, which dictates the devotion to God alone, and not to any pagan gods. What will you do when an Olympian or other god gives you a command?"

"Whey the merits of following through. If I should decide not to, then I won't. If I decide to follow through, then I will."

"And if you decide not to, and that god becomes angry?"

"Then I will stand firm, and let God protect me."

"I see. My old friend, in this pagan course of life that was chosen for you, I have a feeling that your faith will be tried many times."

"And in each instance, it will never waver."

Chiron chuckled good-naturedly. "That is good, my friend, that is very good."

The two eventually made it to the run-down cabin 11, the Hermes cabin. There Annabeth sat, a book on architecture written in Ancient Greek between her hands. She must have heard the approaching clip-clop of Chiron's hooves, because she looked up. Amazingly, the green bruise on her cheek had almost faded completely. Now it looked more like an obscene hickey than anything else.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have a master's archery class at noon. Would you please take Percy from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin 11...make yourself at home." With that, Chiron was off for the archery range.

In the newfound silence, Percy registered the faint whispering in his ear. Incomprehensible and soft, it was, but heard nonetheless. He panned his head around, noting how the whispering would pick up in intensity when he looked at the cabin, and then decrease when he looked away, only to pick back up again when he looked at the cabin.

Percy had heard this whispering before. It was a type of alert system, he reasoned, because every time he heard it, it was before he was pulled into an alley and threatened by thugs. So, Percy was comfortable with his assumption that there was a very large threat behind this door.

Annabeth knocked on the cabin door, and it was opened shortly by a young man, maybe 19, with handsome features, blonde hair, mischievous blue eyes, and a marring scar under his eye. He wore a kind smile, but under the power of Eagle Vision, he glowed the same red as an enemy.

"Ah, Annabeth! This a new camper?"

There was a blush on the girl's cheek, one that told Percy there was an attraction between these two. "Yes, Luke. This is Percy Jackson. Percy, this is Luke Castellan, head councilor of the Hermes cabin."

The teen held out a hand. Percy took it.

Luke pulled back after the shake. "That's a firm grip you have there, Percy."

The boy smiled in his typical aloof way. "Thank you. Does Hermes get around often?"

"Huh? Oh! You mean all the kids. Nah, I can't say he's much of a great dad, but even doesn't have that much game. No, most of these kids are actually kids from other gods."

"Then why aren't they with their cabin mates?"

A flash of a shadow flitted through Luke's eyes. "Well, in order to be in a cabin, your parents have to care about you enough to claim you as their own, so that you can be properly sorted. Until then, you get to hang out in here, since Hermes is the patron god of travelers and a nice guy all-around."

The whispering was at its loudest the entire time Percy stood before Luke, and combined with his red aura, it was easily identifiable that this demigod was an enemy to Percy. Still, Luke was popular, Percy was a nobody. Luke had everyone on his side, Percy had no one. Luke was the guy these people looked up to, Percy didn't know a soul. In layman's, he couldn't act against this enemy yet.

Not out in the open at least.

Percy entered the cabin, scanning for a place to put down his shoebox. This place was crowded, unbelievably so, and it seemed that every place to put something down was occupied by a sleeping bag. As Percy continued to fail to find space, he remembered what Luke had said: care about you enough to claim you. Using Eagle Vision, he saw every aura every child had, and could swear on this River Styx on who their parent was.

Percy frowned slightly, when, still using his power, he saw a bright golden spot on the floor. Deactivating Eagle Vision, he saw an open space, which was what made him frown. Seriously? He needed the seemingly all-seeing power of Eagle Vision to find a hole on the ground? How disappointing.

Putting down his box, but not his Bible, Percy was unsurprised when someone said, "Hey, is that a bible?" and suddenly he was on the receiving end of many weird looks. Percy just smiled coolly, "Yes, yes it is."

"Uh, why?"

"Because He is just as real as the rest of the gods. No reason not to worship him as well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find a quiet place to read."

And just like that, Percy Jackson left the building with a Bible in his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He didn't get far out the cabin before the daughter of Athena was at his side, gray eyes narrowed and face scrutinous.

"Can I help you?"

"Where did you learn to fight like that? Where did you get those kinds of instincts? You woke up as soon as I put the straw to your lips, and immediately started kicking everyone's butt. I admit, you caught me by surprise, but those other three have been here for years, and are really good at fighting, and Argus is thousands of years old, and you beat him like nothing."

"I took karate lessons as a kid. I guess demigod instincts and reflexes combined with mortal martial arts is a really good combination. Sure helped me beat up all the thugs that tried to rob me when I went for a run in the city."

"A run in the city?"

"I got bored during class, so I skipped a few lessons and went for a quick run."

Annabeth looked scandalized. "You don't…you don't…you don't just _skip_ a class!"

"Sure you do. Did it all the time." The blonde had her mouth open to further this argument, but Percy beat her to it with a question, "Hey, what's the story of the pine tree over there? Chiron just said it was a barrier, but I have a feeling that there's more."

Annabeth suddenly became forlorn and guarded. "There is," she stated darkly, almost venomously.

Okay, Percy thought, clearly some emotional issues here. "I take it that you aren't going to tell me about it?"

"No."

"Are you ever?"

"When I know who you are, then I'll decide."

Percy raised a brow, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately. "Okay, O Cryptic One. If that's all you had for me, then this is where we part ways, and I go find a nice tree to sit under, and you go do whatever it is that Annabeth does in her free time."

Annabeth's eyes widened at how she was so casually blown off like that. No one had done something like that to her, no one. And Percy hadn't even sounded rude when he said that. He sounded just as friendly and cordial as he ever did, and Annabeth was beginning to believe that the boy walking away from her had sociopathic tendencies.

Before Annabeth could do anything else, a large, lumbering shadow fell over the girl. She turned around, and was unsurprised to see four burly daughters of war standing behind her, Clarisse La Rue at the head.

"So, Miss Princess, I hear there's a newbie in town."

"Quite astute of you."

Annabeth jumped when Percy was suddenly, unbeknownst to her, about three feet away. "H-How…? Never mind. Percy, this is Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares."

"Nice to meet you, _baqarat kariha_."

"What did you just call me, Prissy?" Clarisse sneered.

The light in Percy's green eyes shifted, but only Annabeth noticed it, and for some strange reason, she clenched her butt together as a feeling of phantom pain came washing over her like a warm breeze.

"It is Arabic, for 'my lady.' My I inquire as to whom your chief paternal influence in life might be?"

"Huh?"

"Who's your father?"

Clarisse puffed up with pride. "Ares, god of war. Got a problem with that, Prissy?"

The boy seemed to twitch, but one more, only Annabeth noticed the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Not at all, _baqarat kariha_. One should not base understanding of others solely on the knowledge of who their father is, but on how they react to stimuli found in an uncontrolled environment."

"If you don't start speaking English, Prissy, I will throw your ass into the Aphrodite cabin and let them pretty you up before I smash you into the dirt."

Percy's smile never faded. "Of course. I apologize for my chosen form of tongue, I was under the impression I was in the presence of those of an intellectual status rivalling the that of intermediate students. I see now that you are of a mind more closely related to that those that attend a crèche."

Clarisse's eye twitched, not at all understanding that she had just been compared to preschoolers, but because she had just heard more words she didn't understand. Annabeth understood all of it, and she found herself hiding her chortles behind her hand. However, it seemed that she did not hide well, because Clarisse rounded on her, eyes ablaze with anger.

"Oh yeah, Princess? You think Prissy's all cute and funny? Well, let's see what you think after I'm done with initiation!"

She whirled around, fully intent on dragging Percy to the girls' bathroom and shoving his face into the toilet she just took a monster shit in—and didn't flush—only to receive the Word of God. Percy slapped Clarisse across the face, in the perfect location on the jaw, with his Bible, with enough force to spin the girl around, where she collapsed onto her face, out _cold_.

"The Word, mother-ducker! Do you read it!?" Percy leveled a frigid glare at the other daughters of Ares. "Well? You gonna pull those swords or whistle Dixie?" One girl uttered a single whimper, before all three picked up their sister and scampered off. Percy stared at their retreating backs with vindication in his eyes. "I do not look a girl. You do not call me 'Prissy,' and not expect to get punched in the penis or the clitoris. What?"

Annabeth was staring at Percy with that calculating look all children of Athena inherited. "I think I want you on my team this Friday."

"Okay, good for you. Now I'm going to go read—actually no, my mood is ruined. I'm going to the forges. I have a question to ask."

Annabeth could feel the amount of 'please leave me alone' the boy radiated, and so she just nodded and went off on her own, heading for her cabin. She needed to make a plan.

The bruise on her cheek from Percy's punch just a few scant hours ago was completely gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy had been in a forge before, or rather, Faris had been in a forge before. He had needed to, to learn how to craft swords and repair swords, and mostly because he wanted to. Faris had thought sword crafting was fun. While Percy did have the knowledge on how to forge a piece of metal into a lethal weapon, because Faris had once made his own set of Hidden Blades before his death, he was here for a more important reason.

Camp Half-Blood's 'arts-and-crafts' pavilion was just like one would expect. Hot, crowded, busy, and loud. Multiple raging fired danced around the place, bathing the forge in red light. Burning and hot metal were the heaviest scents in the air, with sweat coming in close second. Multiple benches were scattered about, all of them cluttered with scrap metal, unfinished projects, and armaments awaiting fixing.

Using Eagle Vision to cut through the borderline _haze_ , Percy found the head councilor without having to ask around and interrupt one of the humongous kids tending a lethal fire or wielding a gigantic hammer to smash something flat. The head councilor was a burly boy with black skin, soot on his face, well-worn clothes of tough make, and the fuzzy black hair most black people had. Over his eyes he wore a pair of goggles.

He was also tinkering with Percy's hand-crafted Hidden Blades.

"Excuse me, are you the head councilor of the Hephaestus cabin?"

The boy looked up, and he smiled, setting down the mechanisms and lifting his goggles up. "Yes, sir, I am. Charles Beckendorf, pleased to meet you." He held out his hand, and Percy took it. "Mm. Firm handshake."

"Thank you."

Charles held up the Hidden Blades. "Chiron told me he found these on you. Did you make them?"

"Yes, I did."

The teen whistled. "This is some really good work. Percy, right? How'd you make these?"

"One day I just got it in my head that it would be cool to just flick my wrist and automatically have a pencil to write with. It's also a cool way to freak people out. I made them by drawing out some designs in a notebook, and then snuck into my school's welding and woodshop rooms. Assembly was easy."

"Not bad, kid," Beckendorf praised, clearly impressed. "I doubt you're here to just ask for these back."

"No, sir. Actually, I came here in the hopes that you could make something for me, or you could help me make something."

"Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

"A crossbow."

Beckendorf blinked very slowly, much like that of an owl. "Huh," he finally said.

Percy cocked his head. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing, it's just—you ever watch _Van Helsing_? The one with Hugh Jackman and Kate Beckinsale?"

"Yes. I thought it was a good movie."

"Yeah, so did I. I was watching it the other day, and I said to myself, 'I'm gonna make that crossbow.' No idea why, I don't use it, and it's been collecting dust for a few days now, but…you want it, you can have it."

"Yes, please."

"I'll be right back."

Charles disappeared into the back of the forge, and Percy patiently waited for him to return. After almost two minutes, the teen came back, a large weapon in his hand. Percy's face almost lit up like that of an excited child's, but he kept himself in check.

"Here you go, one re-forged _Van Helsing_ automatic crossbow, made better by yours truly."

Percy hefted the weapon, noting its weight. Clicking a button on the side caused the crossbow's arms and site to pop into position. Now fully uncompact, Percy examined the weapon. From what he had seen in the movie, this beautiful creation was an exact replica, all the way down to the color. The only difference was that instead of a ram's head at the mouth of the crossbow, there was an eagle.

"Can I go test this?"

"Sure."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chiron blinked when Beckendorf and Percy entered the archery range during his master's class...with Percy carrying some kind of crossbow.

"Just squeeze the trigger and hold on tight," the son of Hephaestus said.

Percy nodded, and hefted the weapon on his shoulder, taking aim at a target about fifty yards away. The rest of the class stopped in their practice of bow-shooting in favor of watching what was about to happen. They saw the boy's hand get tighter, then-

SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING!

Little blurs went screaming out of the bow's mouth, zooming all the way to the target with ease, each bolt burying itself up to the fletching in the straw.

Percy stopped firing, a grin on his face. "I like this. Can I keep this?"

"I'm not ever going to use it."

"Sweet."

The Assassin couldn't help but marvel at this creation. Centuries ago, he had made the first crossbow. He had drawn the designs, carved the wood, weaved the string, built the mechanisms, _and_ hand-made the little arrows that the crossbow needed to function correctly. Now, over 800 years later, his little weapon had evolved into _this_. A full-auto crossbow that fired five bolts a second, and with a 60-bolt drum, that was twelve seconds of nonstop fire.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy and Beckendorf returned to the forge, where the teen offered to make more bolts, free of charge. When the Assassin asked why, the son of Hephaestus just shrugged and said that he needed something to keep him busy. Percy then asked if he could come back here himself and forge a proper pair of Hidden Blades using celestial bronze, the monster-killing metal. Beckendorf wholly agreed, excited to find someone that had an interest in metal-working that wasn't a child of Hephaestus.

Of course, Percy neglected to say that he would also be looking for some mortal steel on the side...for reasons.

Charles also showed Percy this nifty little feature on the crossbow that made it shrink down into this little ring. So now Percy had a celestial bronze band on his right middle finger.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the day saw Percy reading his Bible underneath a tree, until a wood nymph melted out of the bark and informed him that dinner would be soon. Percy's singing gut was enough to convince him to go. Then the nymph told him that he had to be with his cabin, which made the boy frown, because being with his cabin meant being with Luke the Enemy.

Still, Percy returned to cabin 11, saw that his Minotaur horns were still safe and sound, praise the Lord, and that he was just in time for the conch shell horn to blow, signaling it was time for food. Luke called for a line-up, in which Percy was at the back due to the line being ordered based on seniority. The children of Hermes and assorted others marched single file all the way to the dining pavilion.

Upon arrival, Percy noted that they were the last ones, and the tables corresponded with the cabins, which meant that the Hermes cabin was crammed together like sardines, with half of Percy's butt hanging off the end of the bench, much to his annoyance. Food was delivered via satyrs and nymphs, along with magic goblets, and when all was doled out, Chiron stood to give a short speech, one that ended with a toast 'to the gods.'

While Percy would respect these pagans as fellow children of Christ, he would not be bowing, worshipping, or toasting in their honor, for the simple reason that it was against his religion. Nothing more, nothing less. So, when it came time, for cabin 11 to throw some of their food into the fire to honor their parents, Percy did that. Only, instead of praying for the pagans, he made this burnt offering in the name of the Lord.

After dinner, all the cabins made their way to the amphitheater, where a camp-wide singalong took place, one which Percy only marginally participated in. He did find it strange that the fire in the middle was fueled by emotions. After that, everyone retreated to their cabins for the night.

Percy leaned against the wall of the cabin, still up while everyone else was sleeping. In one hand was his Bible, and in the other was the shoebox containing the Minotaur horns. Percy could care less for his 'trophies.' They were nothing but a reminder that his mother was either dead or dying.

No, what Percy thought of was what the robed man had said to him when Faris had died, how God still had work for him to do. What this work was, was still shrouded in mystery, but the curtain was being pulled back bit by bit. This work involved the pagan gods of the Grecian pantheon, and it revolved around the summer solstice and Luke Castellan.

Lost in his thoughts, Percy found himself flicking his wrist, a habit he had picked up in earlier days when his Hidden Blades were still attached to his arms. Realizing what he was doing, Percy smirked to himself. What an Assassin he was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Alright, this was longer than I expected, therefore this is part one of two. The next part will be the rest of the days of the week, followed by the CTF moment, which will then lead to Percy touching the Sword, and**_ _ **then**_ _ **the Second Life arc will kick off.**_

 _ **So, Zeus is a bitch, Michael was not having it, Chiron was not allowed to teach the Creed, and now the centaur knows that Percy and Faris are one and the same. Percy has a nice vocabulary, and handled Clarisse in a way that I found humorous. Also, Percy has a crossbow.**_

 _ **Consider the first addition to his personal arsenal.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	12. A Christian Among Pagans: Part Two

_A Christian Among Pagans: Part Two_

 _ **Yay! 200 reviews! We made it, bitches!**_

 _ **Okay, if I can get my ass together, this will be the final chapter before the Second Life arc begins. This chapter will entail the little tidbits from here and there in the book, the CTF game, and Percy going to touch the sword and ending up in a coma. Hopefully. Lord willing.**_

 _ **Oh, the whispers. For those that are confused on just what that was about, it's the same power Shay has in**_ **Rogue** _ **whenever he's near an Assassin. If you're still confused, you can go find gameplay on YouTube.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A routine was created for Percy. Get up, read the Bible, go to breakfast, burn some food, have Ancient Greek lessons with Annabeth, gently probe her for more information about herself, then move on to running practice with the wood nymphs, and surprise everyone with his ability to keep up, and sometimes even win. Then go to wrestling class with the children of Ares, which Percy thoroughly enjoyed because now he could test his fighting prowess against something that wasn't varying amounts of apparitional Templars. He fought very well, if his consistent victories over Clarisse were any indication. Then there was canoeing, which wasn't too exciting but he could smoke any and all challengers with minimal difficulty. An interesting fact about Percy's archery skills, though...with a bow and arrow, he had room for improvement, but with his crossbow.

His ability can best be compared to that of Chiron himself...who was taught by Apollo.

Nuff said.

Another thing, as Percy moved throughout the camp, he could feel the eyes on him, the eyes of the councilors and senior campers, all judging him, assessing him, trying to determine his parent. It was difficult, because he could run like a child of Hermes, shoot like a child of Apollo, fight like a child of Ares, had a mind like that of a child of Athena, a metal-working interest of a child of Hephaestus, and had a tongue like that of a child of Aphrodite. Oh yes, during his tenure so far, he had been accosted by various individuals of an unsavory nature, and Percy avoided physical conflict by employing a charming smile and honey-coated words.

Most people thought of it as thus: an Athena-child if they had Aphrodite Charmspeak.

Bottom line, Percy Jackson was an enigma, a jack-of-all-trades, a well-rounded machine. And on top of all this, he read the Bible; he was a Christian. No one in the camp, from the younger children to the eldest satyrs and smartest half-bloods knew what to make of this. Most suspected that Mr. D or some other god would smite the boy for being an infidel to the ways of the Greek gods, but nothing ever happened. If anything, it seemed like the wine god made it an active duty of his to stay away from Percy Jackson.

And so, to some extent, many emulated this behavior.

However, there were some, a small number to be sure, who were...curious about the Good Book, and what it meant to be a Greek Christian.

Today was Thursday, and it was the day in which Percy would be having his first sword lesson...cue derogatory snort at the term 'first.' Percy was an expert swordsman, with the skills and abilities of Faris being transferred unto him through the many nights of training in Yancy's gym. Not every night involved beating up a ghost with his fists, but also cutting them down. The main problem with today, however, was that this place was big on the Greek short swords of old, and not the long, slender, slightly curving blade of the Syrian saber that Percy and grown fond of using.

Still, Percy powered through the inconvenience. This lesson was being taught by Luke, and the son of Hermes was still glowing red, and Percy saw this as an excellent opportunity to size up the enemy, test his skills, and determine whether or not to go through the painstaking process of fabricating a fatal training accident.

Percy stood in front of the straw training dummy, which was armored, with a xiphos in hand. The short weapon felt wrong in the boy's hand, its weight awkward. He wasn't saying it was heavy, if anything it was too light. Percy attacked the dummy with relentless fervor, striking at joints and chinks in the dummy's armor, spilling straw all over the place.

Eventually, the class moved on from dummies, and into dueling partners. For whatever reason, Luke chose Percy, and the boy's hidden smirk was one of chilling excitement. As everyone else delved into a monotony of ringing metal and half-interested swings and blocks, Percy put his game face on. Luke saw this, saw those serious green eyes, saw that tight, coiled posture, and he also settled into a serious demeanor.

Luke had been watching this boy, assessing him just as everyone else had, and he was stumped. Perhaps this battle would provide more insight on the boy's father, and if not, it would definitely provide insight on whether Luke should entertain bringing the boy into the fold.

Percy engaged first, a simple swipe to decapitate. Luke blocked, and Percy retracted, already swiping again, this time at the chest. Luke blocked. This time, Percy stabbed, but Luke parried with a sweeping of his blade, and Percy used the momentum to whip his body, his leg snapping out, causing Luke to go down. However, the teen displayed just how much better a demigod was than a human, by using a single arm to handspring himself to his feet.

Percy rushed forward, stabbing and swiping at Luke with expert precision and skill, skill that was putting Luke's ability to the test in a way that he hadn't ever experienced. In fact, he was beginning to break a sweat, his breathing becoming...faster.

And it excited him.

Luke hadn't ever had a challenge like this, and it made his heart pound with exhilaration.

Percy's blade clashed with Luke's, and the older demigod, grabbed the younger's wrist, and threw him backward using a superior leverage. Luke quickly turned the tide of the battle, surging into offense. The son of Hermes probed the boy's defense, and was surprised at how firm it was. Percy's footwork, coordination, reflexes, and...was that experience? Indeed, the demigod's green eyes were hard with calculation and control.

He had done this before.

Anyway, all of the previously mentioned factors combined into a defensive machine that refused to be penetrated. Not even Luke's feints and bolder techniques were enough to catch Percy flat-footed. But, something Luke noticed, the younger demigod was not of unlimited stamina. The constant, rapid-fire barrage of attacks against Percy's guard were having their allotted affect.

Granted, the boy was sweating an equal amount to one that had simply climbed a flight of stairs.

Luke began to become frustrated. What had started as a heart-pounding battle had quickly devolved into a boring game of swing at the sword. Luke had expected Percy to counter and launch into his own offensive, and let the duel move on to its second stage, but no. The boy had kept up his defense, merely content to block, parry, and dodge. And it was a tedious endeavor, one that made Luke rage and grunt.

However, the son of Hermes was not hailed as the best swordsman in 300 years because he allowed emotion to make him sloppy.

"Enough!" barked the demigod, which brought all surrounding combat grinding to a halt. Surprisingly, all pairs had kept up their training, instead of stopping to stare at the display between Luke and Percy. "Break time!"

The Assassin smirked at his victory, and his smirk widened by a fraction at the subtle scowl on Luke's face as he made for the water cooler. However, on the inside, Percy was impressed. Perhaps it was this small body, and the lack of true sword battles outside of Yancy's gym, but Percy found himself…tired. For someone that had trained himself to run for miles upon miles, scale skyscrapers, and free-run through any terrain for hours on end without rest, _tired_ was an astounding feat.

Beyond that, Percy couldn't recall a battle of the blade that intense since his duels with Altaїr.

Points to the half-blood enemy for extreme skill.

Percy followed the crowd of fatigued demigods, and partook in the consumption of dihydrogen monoxide. While feeling better, his fatigue departing him, it was nothing compared to the surge of strength at pouring an entire glass upon his head. You want to talk about 'letting your problems wash away,' you gotta mention children of Poseidon and their ability to turn any sources of water into boosts of power. As the cold liquid poured down his body, all detriments Percy felt instantly vanished, and he felt ready to take on this entire camp.

After the water break, Luke wanted everyone to practice a disarming maneuver, one that entailed the striking of the opponent's hilt to knock their sword out of their grasp. The problem was: that had been a favorite move of one Faris Ibn-La'Ahad 800 years ago. The son of Hermes wanted to demonstrate on Percy, to which the boy acquiesced.

After the slow-motion technique was over, Luke wanted a real-time thing between himself and Percy, one that the Assassin was happy to partake in. Now, Percy could've done this technique in his sleep with his hands tied behind his back, but he was still jacked up on water, and therefore all of his physical abilities were boosted to levels beyond any demigod here.

Luke's blade clattered to the ground on the first slash…and then the next…and then the one after that. Finally, the teen got the hint that Percy knew what he was doing, and quickly delved the exercise down into dueling pairs once more. As the crowd dispersed to find partners and space, Percy disappeared among the small throng, left the arena entirely, and made for the forge.

Capture-the-Flag was tomorrow night, and he wanted his Hidden Blades back on his forearms.

However, before he got too close to metal shop, a thought popped into Percy's head, one revolving around a possible use for the horns at his sleeping area. So, Percy made a quick detour for cabin 11, and retrieved the annoying reminder that his mother was _still_ elsewhere. Then he made his way to the forges.

Not a thing was different than Monday, except most of the people in here were busy hammering away at various weapons and armor, most likely in preparation for tomorrow's activity. Finding Beckendorf was easy, and the burly teen greeted the Assassin with this: wide arms and a broad smile.

"Percy, my friend! How may I be of service?" Charles asked exuberantly.

Percy stared at him, rather creeped out. "You can start by not doing that ever again."

The son of Hephaestus snorted. "Oh, lighten up, kid. I'm only joking."

"I watch my mother die a few days ago. I'd say I'm pretty light regarding the circumstance."

Beckendorf coughed awkwardly. "Um, right. Soooo…I made some ammo for you!" He stood aside and proudly displayed two full drum mags of celestial bronze bolts. Percy smiled. Charles rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, "Although, I'm just now realizing that you have no practical way of carrying these around with you…"

"Actually, I had an idea." Percy brought the Minotaur horns out from behind his back. "Do you think it's possible to hollow these out, and enchant them or something to where they can hold things within?"

Beckendorf took the horns with intense eyes. He turned the horns over in his hands, inspecting every inch, detecting every niche and crack, and every indent and curve. "Well," he said at last, "I can't say I have the skills to make these babies able to hold multiple items much bigger than themselves, but I can hollow them out for you."

Percy was disappointed to hear that, and he couldn't keep it out of his voice. "Oh, I see."

Beckendorf easily picked up on this, and he just so happened to have the most convenient advice. "Hey, there's this one girl, a daughter of Hecate by the name of Lou Ellen Williams, who might be able to help."

Percy cocked his head. "Isn't Hecate the goddess of witchcraft?"

"Yes…why?"

"Maybe it has something to do with the book I always have with me."

"Huh—oh! Uh, um," Charles floundered for something, clearly embarrassed by his little brain fart. _Of course_ Percy wouldn't be too fond of meeting with someone that was, in all intents and purposes, a witch. The Bible expressly said the witchcraft was a no-no, and it was expressly clear that Percy believed in the Bible, therefore he followed the ways of God.

Then again, the boy wasn't spewing scripture at every moment he could, reminding everyone that they were the children of pagans and needed to repent, or that they were all going to burn in Hell, so maybe there was hope in that Percy wasn't going to do anything to condemn Lou Ellen. Charles didn't think the boy was like that, but you could just never tell with people.

"Give her a chance?" the son of Hephaestus tried.

Percy shrugged. "I don't see why that can't happen."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Assassin found the daughter of Hecate sitting by the hearth, coincidentally sitting next to the little girl in the brown robes that Percy had seen almost every time he looked at the blazing fire.

"Pardon me, but are you Lou Ellen Williams?"

The black-haired girl turned around, revealing her green eyes, and cheeks and nose dotted with small freckles, and a face around the same age as his own. Upon seeing him, the demigoddess' eyes widened, alight with _fear_. She made to bolt away, but robed girl grabbed her wrist, and gently pulled Lou Ellen back to the ground with a reassuring smile.

"It's okay, child. He does not mean you harm."

The witch-girl did not seem assuaged of her trepidation, but she did not run away. Instead, she looked at Percy with wary eyes. The Assassin merely smiled down at her with his usual cool upturning of the lips. "You are afraid of me because of my faith, aren't you?"

"Christians have a track record of burning my siblings at the stake."

Percy sighed, and took a seat next to Lou Ellen. She shied away from him, drawing closer to the robed girl.

"I do not come here to threaten, merely to ask a question." The Assassin produced the Minotaur horns. "I have a man that can hollow these out, but I'm curious to know if you can enchant them to where they can hold multiple items within, items bigger than themselves."

Lou Ellen hesitantly took the horns, and examined them, much like Beckendorf had done. Finally, she looked at Percy. "Yeah, I can do it, but...wouldn't that be, like, heresy or something for you?"

Percy laughed. "If God does not want something to happen, He will not let it happen. Go on...work your magic."

Lou Ellen cracked a smile at the pun, but she did bring the horns to her mouth. Percy didn't catch what she said, but it sounded like rapid-fire Latin. After her spell was cast, the horns...didn't do anything. Lou Ellen held the horns back out, and Percy whistled in amazement at seeing that the horns were now hollowed out.

"Here," the robed girl held out a rock, one much larger than the horn's opening. Percy set a horn down, took the rock, and placed it at the mouth of the horn he was still holding. The mineral instantly shrank in his palm, and fell into the horn, looking no bigger than a pebble. Percy tipped the horn over, and the rock came falling out. After clearing the rim, the rock instantly grew back into its full size.

The robed girl smiled serenely, and Lou Ellen beamed. Percy stood, placing his Minotaur horns behind back. "Thank you."

The daughter of Hecate smiled. "No problem."

Percy turned to leave, but then he thought of something to say. "Ms. Williams?"

"Hm?"

"Your mother does not define who you are, and know this: God loves all, be they pagan, believer, heretic...or witch."

Lou Ellen's eyes widened, and the robed girl's smile seemed to widen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy returned to the forges and showed Beckendorf the horns. The teen wasn't too surprised, merely giving a broad grin. With the problem of the magazine storage place solved, then came the issue of practically keeping the horns on Percy. The Assassin was quick to remember the tri-belted harness he once wore so many years ago.

Finding leather in the forge hadn't been hard, and cutting it and fitting it into the required belt for a twelve-year-old had been even less hard. Now Percy had a couple of bull horns across his back, positioned in such a way that he could easily reach inside and pull anything in them out.

Percy had memorized his schedule for the day, and he could safely say that he did not care for anything else on his schedule, and Beckendorf, being a camp counselor, was not restricted in what he could do in a day...not that there was anything anyone could do to force anybody to actually do any activity. So, with that in mind, the two pagan children spent the rest of the day until dinner working on forging Percy's Hidden Blades.

By the time dinner arrived, the Assassin felt whole once more.

Now he just had to make one out of steel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day saw Percy fighting against automatons offered by the generous Hephaestus cabin (Beckendorf) using only hid Hidden Blades. In the late 12th century, the Hidden Blade could only be used for Assassination or counter-killing, not for blade-on-blade combat. Back then, the construction was too fragile to handle the strike of a sword. Today, however, with Percy's improved design, Beckendorf's expertise, and the majesty that was celestial bronze, the little weapons were sturdy and durable enough to be used against enemy weapons.

And Percy used them well.

Despite Faris' indisputable skill with the sword its shorter brother, he had always truly favored his Hidden Blades. They were sleek, elegant, quiet, and simple. There was no need for feints and drastic measures using those, just good reflexes and excellent timing. However, there were times when the Hidden Blades were ill-suited for combat, and that's when Faris unsheathed one of the sturdier weapons.

Sturdier being the keyword.

Now, though, with these new Blades, Percy could attack and defend with all the prowess as if he had been using an actual sword. The boy easily alternated between striking with his arms, wearing down an automaton's defense with just a few strikes before dispatching the machine and moving on to the next, and beginning the process again, and holding his ground against a few enemy blades, testing the strength of the Hidden Blades against strong attacks.

They held up beautifully.

Amazingly, no interrupted Percy's practice time. No cabins coming for sword practice, no cabins coming for wrestling practice, no cabins coming to sit in and watch, no groups of people coming in to watch, no one. Well, almost no one. Charles had come to oversee things, film, and make notes, and Lou Ellen (surprisingly) had stood silently off to the side, watching with keen interest.

Whether that interest was in Percy, or Percy's skill was up for debate.

The Assassin cleared out the automatons, eventually, and the day had to move on. Percy and Beckendorf labored at getting the machines back to the forge for repair, and Lou Ellen disappeared to do her own thing, but not before catching Percy's eye and throwing a minute sway into her hips for all of a second. Charles chortled while the boy just raised a brow at the behavior.

They were twelve…weren't they a little young for such flirting?

And why was she flirting, anyway?

Or was Percy just imagining things?

Anyway, after getting all the scrap back to the forge, Percy gave Beckendorf a firm handshake, and made the archery range his next stop, where he emptied an entire magazine on several targets, drew another magazine from a horn on his back, and proceeded to empty that clip as well. Each bolt strayed no further than the first ring. After Percy was satisfied with his accuracy for the day, he underwent the arduous process of retrieving all his ammo, and reloading the magazines with their bolts.

Then Percy decided that it had been too long since he had last gone for a climb, and acquainted himself with the lava wall. If the thing had just been footholds and ledges, it would've been too easy, but it was called the lava wall for a reason, and that was because lava fell down the wall, and if you were not careful (or didn't have an experienced healer on standby) you might possibly die. However, even with the added threat of burning death, Percy still made it up the wall just fine.

He would definitely be back here though, what with the wall's difficulty configuration.

You might be wondering why Percy seemingly had all this free time on his hands, despite being a member of cabin 11. It's simple, Percy ditched his cabin. Really, there was no need to stick with them and follow their schedule, not when Percy had things he could be doing that were much more productive. No one said anything, because no one cared. He was an unusual demigod doing unusual things.

Finally, dinner rolled around, after a conversation with Grover that revealed the history of the pine tree (and the electric blue glow within) and Percy would be lying if he said he wasn't marginally excited about this Capture the Flag. There had been a similar game back in Masyaf, where flags bearing the Assassin's symbol would be placed about in random locations, and then all the Novices would be sent out to collect. While exciting to some degree, it became tedious when not a flag could be found. Percy hoped Capture the Flag here was vastly different.

Annabeth and her siblings came running in, displaying a gray banner with a silken barn owl above an olive tree. Then Clarisse and her cabin came running in, displaying their own red banner with a bloody spear and a boar's head. Obviously, those were the flags. Questioningly, did Athena and Ares _always_ lead the teams? Further, who was on what team?

A dose of Eagle Vision, and Percy was swimming in reds and blues.

Oh, well, that answered the question…and Luke was still red.

Chiron hammered his hoof on the marble. "Heroes!" he announced. "You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!"

He spread his hands, and the tables were suddenly covered with equipment: helmets, bronze swords, spears, oxhide shields coated in metal.

Percy's brow twitched. How, exactly, did one maneuver with their body weight attached to their arm? He was not having it, nor was he having any of these breastplates, helmets, vambraces, and/or battle skirts. Luke only ceased in his persistent efforts of trying to get Percy to hold a shield and put on armor after the Assassin leveled a nearby sword at his throat with an icy green stare.

"Alright, but it's your funeral when your friends from cabin 5 come calling. You'll be on border patrol, by the way."

Percy was just fine with his crossbow on his finger, his magazines on his back, and his Hidden Blades tucked safely under his white hoodie, which he had found in the possession of someone who shouldn't have had it in the first place.

The Blue team departed from the dining pavilion, and Percy made it up to Annabeth, since she was obviously the leader of this congregation. "What part of the border did you want me guarding, exactly?"

The daughter of Athena looked at him, and her eyes widened. "Where's your armor?"

"In a place that doesn't exist. Now, where am I guarding?"

Those gray eyes shined with a light that displayed how utterly lost Annabeth was, but she answered anyway. "By the creek. I'll show you where."

And indeed she did, and Percy did his custom eye-brow raise. The creek, out of the way, far from combat. Seriously? However, Percy did not question this. Under the power of Eagle Vision, this place was glowing white, which meant that in all the forest, _this_ was the spot. In the distance, the conch horn blew, and the forest became alive with whoops and hollers, and the clanging of mettle. One boy, a son of Apollo, came blitzing past Percy, through the stream, and into enemy territory.

Percy watched the teen go with Eagle Vision, and it was because of this that Percy saw the blue outline of Annabeth Chase hiding in some brush, a golden hat on her head. Invisibility? Interesting.

 _Grahhhhh…_

Percy's crossbow was in his hand in an instant as he wildly snapped about, Eagle Vision on as he searched for the threat, for there _was_ a threat. The growl had come from all directions, so pinpointing the origin was useless, and as he whipped around, crossbow aimed at everything, he saw no red figures in the bushes. In fact, Percy could swear he felt the dark presence of whatever creature had been there _receding_.

Calm reigned for all of thirty seconds before Percy heard clambering from the rear, but he was about as far from concerned over these arrivals as Pluto was from the sun.

"Cream the punk!" came the scream of Clarisse, and then the rapid splashing of feet through water.

Now, for some Percys, this would've been the opportune moment to 'test' themselves against a number of experienced opponents. But not this Percy. This incarnation of the son of Poseidon had no desire to test the measure of his combat prowess, for in his experience, he was about as experienced as one could be. And while seeing how his Hidden Blades measured up against shields and spears in a nonlethal setting, this Percy was far more occupied on the dark presence that seemed content with hiding.

So, the Assassin gestured with his arm, and the creek erupted, sending the children of Ares to the shallow bottom about eight inches below. Then with another gesture, this time a jerk of the head, the demigods were dragged onto the shore, tendrils of water still connected to them. With a final gesture, this one of the arm, and those tendrils slammed the heads of the enemy hard into the gravel, and they knew the sweet bliss of sleep.

The water retreated into the creek.

Percy did this all without turning around, and he continued to stare intently at the forest. That presence was still out there, and it was still waiting for something. Perhaps it was waiting for an audience, or for Percy to lower his guard, something that would not be happening, or maybe the presence was content to wait forever.

Sounds of screaming, elated screaming, tore through the forest, and Percy risked a quick glance backward, and saw the lights of enemies and allies rapidly getting closer. Luke came charging through the brush, flanked by sons of Apollo fighting off the sons of Hephaestus. The son of Hermes charged through the creek, and to the other side. The campers, who had all managed to gather at this one location en masse at the same time, exploded into cheers or moans at either their victory or their defeat.

"How did you…the water…no, I thought…Zeus would be your…and that would make you Thalia's…"

Percy turned around, seeing Annabeth staring at him in shock, her hat, a Yankees cap, clutched tightly in her hand. It was clear that her entire world view had just been shattered, and her brain was trying to catch back up with reality.

Something that was made easy by the lupine howl that ripped through the forest, causing swords to be drawn, spears to be pointed, arrows to be knocked, and shields raised. Chiron barked out in Ancient Greek, "Stand ready! My bow!"

The source of the howl became clear when there was a short gasp, followed by everyone turning their heads in sync to stare at the rhino-sized dog on the rocks above. Bristling black fur, claws the size of daggers, teeth like knives, and burning eyes of lava stared down at the demigods, or to be more specific, Percy Jackson.

For his part in this, the boy deadpanned. "Oh, well if that's all it is…"

In a quickdraw movement honed from years of practice during the Third Crusade, Percy had his crossbow aimed and firing in an instant.

SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING!

All it took was a single squeeze to put down the beast. The hellhound collapsed to the creek, its body dissolving into shadow that faded away. Whether it was some divine will or the flow of the creek, Percy's bolts found themselves floating down to his foot, where bent down to pick them up, and when he stood, there was this weird green glow.

"Um, Percy," Annabeth was weakly pointing up.

Percy looked up, and saw a spinning trident the same color as the glow that tainted the place.

"It is determined," Chiron said grimly. He began to bow in a way only a horse could, and the rest of the camp followed suit. As a Christian who only bowed to a cross and those that stood behind it, this felt ten different kinds of wrong.

"Poseidon, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

…

"Are we going to ignore the fact that a hellhound somehow made it into here, or what?" Percy deadpanned.

Chiron blinked, and then he mentally groaned at himself. _Of course_ the boy would be more concerned with a threat to his life than with who his pagan father was. "Someone summoned it, someone inside the camp."

Using Eagle Vision, Percy saw Luke glowing bright gold. Surprise, surprise.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy, despite being a devote Christian, good with words, and able to carry a conversation with anybody, was still antisocial as crap, and covered his haste to move into cabin 3 with a quick explanation that he didn't want to overtax cabin 11 anymore than what it already was, and accompanied this with a small scowl that was _obviously_ aimed at his 'father' and at the other Olympians for not claiming their children, therefore making it look like Percy was just as happy at his new circumstance as anyone else.

The campers bought it up like junkies and free weed.

Except for Chiron, Beckendorf, Grover, Annabeth, and Lou Ellen. They could see that he was just happy to escape the crowded confines of the Hermes cabin.

That night, as Percy lay on his cool top bunk, wide awake and wired, he could not find the lack of energy to sleep. So he did what he hadn't done in too long: exercise. The Assassin was on his face as soon as the thought occurred to him, his arms pistoning him up and down with tremendous speed. After pushup number 624, Percy's arms finally were too tired to haul him up one more time, so he switched to sit ups. After 822 of those, he switched to squats, holding his crossbow above his head for a little extra weight. It proved successful in a way, since Percy could only go up and down 741 times, instead of his usual 912 times.

After he completed his workout, two hours had passed, and the boy was still finding it necessary to burn off energy.

So, he went for a run with his crossbow. It didn't take long for Percy to enter Eagle Vision, and observe the camp in a way only he could. All the cabins glowed their respective colors, of course, but the Big House…above the roof, hundreds of little gold symbols danced erratically. The same symbols that accompanied the Sword from so many years ago.

Interest piqued, Percy turned his crossbow back into a ring, and made his way for the Big House. The door wasn't locked, so entry was easy, and stalking through the halls to the stairs was easier. Chiron was elsewhere in the building, and Dionysus was also elsewhere. Ascending the stairs, Percy found the trapdoor to the attic, and he gently pushed it open. The symbols got more intense.

Percy ignored everything in the room around him, focused solely on the glowing sword buried and hidden behind ancient memorabilia. Carefully moving aside the stuff, Percy beheld the Sword. It was just as he remembered. Straight, thin blade, golden hilt, emerald pommel, straight cross guard, ruby in the middle of the cross guard, and small runes carved into the flat.

Percy slowly reached down for the Sword, not once questioning why he was drawn to it all of a sudden. He touched the hilt, and everything went pear shaped. His body locked, his nerves screamed in pain, his face scrunched up, he wanted nothing than to desperately escape the sudden flood of light and energy beams.

Then it was all over, as Percy fell unconscious with the Sword of Eden clutched tightly in his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **And so ends the first interlude.**_

 _ **Next chapter is the official start of the Second Life arc, and it will take place in**_ **Brotherhood** _ **, in Rome, during the reign of the Borgia. Percy will be an eventual friend of Ezio, but it will be a…strained relationship.**_

 _ **Now, some news about me.**_

 _ **On April 7, 2017, my step-grandfather passed. I mentioned him in chapter 13 of**_ _ **Green-Eyed Ghoul**_ _ **, if you want a little more information. The old man had the awesome combination of dementia and Alzheimer's, and the less said about the bathroom the better. He was a chipper man, happy in all things, and greeted everyone with smile. However, I've always believed that there is a difference between living and existing, and Grandpa Joe was simply existing.**_

 _ **I think it's an act of mercy that God finally called him home.**_

 _ **Moving on, I get to take the ACT test on the 8**_ _ **th**_ _ **. Which is tomorrow. Yippee. People keep telling I can get at least a 30 if I try, and I just respond with a simple 'thank you.' So, pray for my grandmother, pray for me, and pray for anything and everything, because we're about to go to war with Russia.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_

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Within the hideout of Isola Tiberina, Ezio Auditore met with his allies, Bartolomeo d'Alviano, La Volpe, and his own sister, Claudia. They informed Ezio about the important goings-on around the city of Roma, how Cesare was in the Castel Sant'Angelo with the Pope, that the Apple had been handed off for study, and that person's identity was being investigated, and how Caterina Sforza would be moved to the Castello within the next week.

Niccolò Machiavelli decided that it was the Castello that needed targeting, with Cesare and Rodrigo being slated to die, a sentiment that was quickly parroted by the heads of the three guilds of Roma, to which Ezio assured them that indeed, the Borgia leaders would die. Before he left, Ezio was called out to by La Volpe.

"Wait, Ezio."

"Yes?"

"I just thought of someone…someone who might be of great help to us…"

"Who?" Ezio asked, interest now piqued.

La Volpe's gaze was serious and hard. "There is a man that stalks the streets of Roma, one that has made it his personal mission to kill every Borgia-affiliated agent across the city. Everyone from grunts to Rodrigo himself is on his list."

"Volpe, you don't mean…?" Claudia trailed off.

Niccolò picked up on this mystery man was, and he threw in his own two cents. "Ezio… this man is an extremist. What his real name is, no one knows, but we do know is that he's been a presence here in Roma for about as long as the Borgia have. But, though extreme in his beliefs, to the point where I have not tried to recruit him to our cause, his skill cannot be ignored."

"Just how good is the man, then?"

"Well," Volpe started, "the Borgia used to bring in supplies via Il Tevere…"

"Six months after this man started operating…" Bartolomeo picked up.

"The Borgia _stopped_ using Il Tevere," Machiavelli finished seriously.

Claudia's eyes widened, as did Ezio's, but her reaction was for a different reason. "You mean he's…mio Dio…he's put more money into my girls' hands than anyone, always for distracting Borgia guards."

La Volpe nodded. "He's been able to run with the best of my thieves, complete our challenges, and he even stole my sword."

Bartolomeo snorted. "He has been to my fighting ring, always wins, always collects the money. I've crossed blades with him myself…I have yet to beat him."

Now Ezio's interest was _really_ piqued. He approached his allies, head turned to where he looked at them all from the corner of his eye, his hand held out, fingers pointed down. "Who is this man?"

Machiavelli was very serious in his answer.

"They call him… Che Si Aggira...the Prowler of Roma."


	13. The Second Life: Meeting

_The Second Life: Meeting_

 _ **Alright, here we are at last! The Second Life arc has now officially begun. First, though, some information. The Second Life will**_ _ **only**_ _ **cover the events of**_ **Brotherhood** _ **, therefore anything from**_ **ACII** _ **or**_ **Revelations** _ **will not be seen. I hold the right to change that on my whim. Secondly, this is Rome, and everyone is most likely anticipating Roman demigods. This will not be. I personally think that Rome would be the heart of the west during this time period, and that means that Camp Jupiter would be elsewhere. That being said, don't be too surprised if Lupa shows up…for reasons. Thirdly, much like how Faris had his own story and Altaїr was left canon, that will much be the case between Che Si (abbreviated version of the name; pronounced 'keh' as in keg, and 'see' as in see) and Ezio, although there will be much more interaction.**_

 _ **Now that we have that squared away, Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

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 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

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"You cannot be serious," was Machiavelli's response to Ezio's plan to recruit citizens of Rome into the Brotherhood.

"To win this war, Machiavelli, we need loyal soldiers. By recruiting enemies of the state, we arm those who have been disarmed by the Borgia," came Ezio's passionate response.

Machiavelli was silent for a moment as he weighed the merits of Ezio's idea. Finally, he said, "Go then. Recruit our first novices." The hooded man nodded once, and began to head for the scuffle in front of him, but the current mentor of the Assassini was not done yet. "Ezio, I know you are trying to attract the attention of Che Si Aggira. Be careful, for you may get exactly what you wish for. Make no mistake, that man is not to be trifled with."

The Auditore patriarch absorbed this information with a serious nod.

For the rest of the day and well into the night did Ezio hunt. All across Rome did he find citizens willing to stand against the tide, citizens tired of the Borgia, citizens ready to take arms, citizens ready to be molded…citizens ready to become Assassins. And they learned quickly. The novices absorbed information and training like sponges, nearly mastering the art of using a smoke bomb and a Hidden Blade instantaneously.

They were not much to look at, honestly, with their simple white garments and even simpler hoods, but they were Assassins, at least, ones in training.

Ezio was a firm believer that experience was a far better teacher than any man could truly be, beyond words and wisdom, and so he set out in Rome to find men of Borgia influence that needed silencing. His first target came from Western Rome, in the broken buildings near Il Tevere. A false doctor that preyed on the Courtesans in the area, Courtesans that worked for the Rosa in Fiore.

For Claudia.

Ezio found the dead girl, lying a puddle of her own blood, her friend weeping over her corpse. The Assassin learned that the doctor's name was Malfatto, and that he killed women for fun. Whether he was a necrophiliac was up for debate, but Ezio did not care. Following the direction of nearby Courtesans, he found Malfatto next to an actual doctor and a tunnel entrance.

Blending with the crowd, Ezio made a motion with his hand, and Malfatto knew no more.

The next instance that the Auditore patriarch found to put his recruits to the test came in the form of a slaver called Silvestro Sabbatini. Ezio came across a young boy on the docks of Il Tevere, and conversed with the child, who lamented that his mother had been taken on a boat, and that he was supposedly next. Ezio asked the child if he had a place to stay, and the answer was 'my uncle's.'

After telling the boy to go there, and not to talk to anyone, Ezio wondered if he would have to find and that man and kill him one day, either for abuse, or because he was in cahoots with the Borgia. Whew, for a man that preached about virtue, that was a rather cynical thought. Regardless, Ezio found and followed Sabbatini to the Colle Palatino, and with a gesture, the man and his Borgia lapdogs knew everlasting peace.

After that event, Ezio just happened to see a pigeon coupe off to the side, and recalled how he and Machiavelli often communicated via pigeon in order to coordinate strikes against the Borgia here and there. So, why could Ezio not do the same with his recruits? There were problems all over Europa that needed attending, and now Ezio had the means to do that.

Of course, there was the risk that the Assassin sent would never return, but Ezio accepted that burden with as heavy a heart as he could, given his need to be able kill without massive questions of moral qualms.

However, during this time of three days, Ezio could never shake the feeling of being…watched. But whenever he looked in the direction that he felt the dark feeling, he saw no one. Ezio liked to think that it was this mysterious Prowler of Roma he kept hearing so much about.

Just before Ezio made it back to Isola Tiberina, he heard strange whispering from an alley. Going to investigate, he found a stranger box. Then he found the strangest thing of all: his old friend, Leonardo da Vinci.

"Ezio!" exclaimed the eccentric inventor.

"Leonardo!"

"I knew you were behind the break-in at Sant'Angelo. It is good to see you, friend!"

Ezio smiled broadly. "Come here!"

The two shared what was perhaps the first bro-hug.

After they separated, Leonardo turned somber. "Forgive me. The Borgia have commandeered my services. Actually, they would have killed me had I refused."

"What do they want?" Ezio asked seriously.

" _War machines_ ," was the grim response. "I have constructed weapons for all the Borgia guards and other terrible monstrosities besides. They are very well designed, Ezio. Here. The names of the Templars overseeing their construction. Cesare intends to supply his army with my creations. You must dismantle them." Leonardo handed Ezio a list, and practically begged the last part.

The Assassin accepted the paper. "Grazie. I will take care of the plans and the machines."

"There is far graver news, I'm afraid," Leonardo said. "They have the Apple."

Ezio turned his head, the rim of his hood hiding his face. "Yes, I know. I gave the Apple to Mario."

The inventor placed his hand on the Assassin's shoulder. "I am sorry, Ezio. Cesare left it in my hands to study, to make it work. Then Rodrigo took it from me, I know not where."

"I will recover it in time," Ezio assured Leonardo, then he remembered something. "I have lost all the codex inventions you fashioned for me."

The inventor picked up on the true question being asked. "Hmm. Remaking them will be easy, I never forget a design. But you must compensate me for the raw material."

Ezio's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" he said aghast, "they are not paying you at il Vaticano?"

Leonardo's smile was sardonic. "Very, _very_ little. If we are to do this, we must appear to not meet at all."

Producing a piece of chalk, da Vinci proceeded to sketch a drawing on the bench about five feet away. Ezio raised a brow, "A hand pointing?"

"It's pointing to where you should sit! So, sit!" Leo said excitedly.

"Yes, maestro," Ezio drawled with heavy sarcasm.

The Assassin soon sat down, and the scientist soon followed. Ezio recalled his other Hidden Blade very well, and that was what he asked Leonardo to make for him first, after the appropriate amount of money was given, of course.

"Wait here. I will be back soon. I must return to my workshop," da Vinci said quietly.

Ezio and Leonardo had very different definitions of the word 'soon.' It was mid-noon when Ezio got here, and by the time the inventor returned, the moon was up…but at least Leonardo had the Hidden Blade. Equipping it, Ezio said, "Now I can kill twice the guards."

Da Vinci nodded and got up to leave, but then he had an 'ah-ha!' moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Ezio. "This was in my workshop when I arrived. It has no name on it."

The Assassin examined the paper. It was just a simple piece of parchment, faded yellow in color, smelled like everything else, and had a modest, yet still noble, handwriting about it.

 _The Pantheon. I'm waiting._

Ezio smiled in victory.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Auditore patriarch arrived at the creation of Agrippa within five minutes via his trusty horse. As it was nighttime now, the Pantheon was officially closed to the public, its doors shut, but that didn't mean anything to an Assassin. Ezio scaled the outer walls with the skill and dexterity of one that had done this for decades, and he quickly arrived at the top of the dome.

Looking down from the opening, Ezio saw a few benches, an altar with a large cross, and several lit torches, which, combined with the gold interior, gave the inside of the Pantheon a warm glow to it. From up here, Ezio saw no signs of Che Si Aggira, but if this man was as good as so many said he was, then he simply wasn't going to stand out in the open.

With that, Ezio flopped over the edge, and carefully made his way down the interior of the dome of the Pantheon, using the protruding studs as his hand-holds during his descent. Ezio finally reached the first ledge, then he dropped down to the second, before choosing to fall all the way down to the floor.

Not wasting any time, Ezio activated his Eagle Vision, though he did not call it that. He simply referred to it as his sixth sense. Instantly, the world turned dark, while he himself glowed bright blue. Looking around, he saw a golden figure leaning against the wall. Deactivating his sixth sense, with a serious look, Ezio took in the appearance of Che Si Aggira.

He wore brown boots, with mauve-and-grey trousers tucked into them. The man had on a white shirt, which was under a black tunic, which was under a wine-colored vest, which in turn was under a brown vest that was left open, as opposed to the wine vest. A belt adorned his waist, one that had a few pouches on it, and on the man's left wrist was a familiar bracer. Che Si's face was obscured by the hood he wore, a hood that was attached to a grey cape.

"Assassin," greeted the Prowler cordially, coolly.

His voice was deep and smooth, with no traces of boy-hood left. In that one utterance, Ezio knew that he was dealing with a man much like himself, a man willing to kill in the name of destiny, capable enough to claim what is rightfully his, cunning enough to stare death in the eye, and charismatic enough to raise a thousand voices to his call.

He was dealing with a man after his own heart.

"Che Si Aggira."

The man glided away from the alcove upon which he leaned against, and floated over to Ezio, stopping a few feet away. With this close proximity, the Assassin saw the sword that La Volpe had spoken about before hanging from the Prowler's belt.

"Word upon the street is that you seek an audience with me, which means either Machiavelli has grown desperate, or you're the one calling the shots within the Brotherhood."

Ezio's eyes widened. "You know of the Brotherhood? How?"

Che Si laughed, a booming sound that was both infectious and disarming. That was the laugh of a hearty gentleman at a party that had just told a magnificent joke. It almost Ezio smile along, but then he remembered the situation.

"Oh, I know many things, Auditore. There is not much in Roma that I do not know about, and what I do not know I find out. I've been watching you since you entered my city, so I do know that you seek my help, but if you're here on Machiavelli's orders or your own whims is not known to me. So, what's the answer?"

"I am here on my own. I've been told by numerous people that you are good, experienced in fighting the Borgia, but are an _extremista_."

" _Extremista_? Ha!That is what Machiavelli would say, the spineless _codardo_ that he is. I only do what needs to be done in ridding Roma of the plague that constantly eats away at her."

"And how do you go about that, exactly?" Ezio asked, a note of caution in his voice as he began to catch a glimpse of the man under the hood.

"By killing every last man that bears even the slightest tie to the Borgia, from the lowest grunt to Cesare and Rodrigo himself. My men operate most effectively in the country side, launching hit-and-run attacks against patrols and groups of Borgia soldiers, while I myself work to eradicate the towers oppressing the districts, dispatching any Borgia unit I come across, and working to raise the money necessary to renovate the shops of Roma."

" _Io vedo_ …and how do you raise this money?"

"The dead have no use for florins, and the Borgia like to keep large stores of their paltry wealth in single locations. Makes it easy to steal. Also, there are many Cardinals and politicians that _succhiare il cazzo del_ Borgia, and therefore have no need of their money."

Ezio cracked a smirk at the remark of the Cardinals and politicians that 'suck off the Borgia's cock,' and at how this man before him seemed to hold a righteous fury against the Templar's lapdogs.

"But, enough about me. You come here seeking a partnership, yes?"

"If you would be so kind."

Che Si inclined his head slightly. "I see no problem with this, only that you recognize that I work _with_ you and not _for_ you like your little novices."

"Of course, however, I would like to know something."

"Hm?"

"That bracer on your wrist, is that-?"

SNIKT

Ezio's eyes widened at the Hidden Blade, but it was different from his own. Ezio's Hidden Blade was a couple of blade built into each other that retracted into a single unit. What Che Si's did was different. Instead of extending down, his Blade first _flicked out_ , revealing that it was two blades side by side, in 180-degree arcs, and only half of the Blade was there, with the second half only extending after the first half was facing out.

"Yes, yes it is."

"How did you-?"

"Eh, that's the funny thing. I saw it in a dream once, and in that dream I saw a different design, a different mechanism, one that required the loss of the ring finger. I just improved upon that design."

"By yourself?"

"No, I did have a little help."

"Who?"

Che Si Aggira smiled. "We all have our secrets, Auditore."

"Some more than others, it seems."

"Indeed. Anyway, I have seen how well you can fight, but you have not seen my abilities. Beyond ambushing the nighttime patrols, and a spar right here—which I would rather avoid—any ideas?"

Ezio thought for a moment, then he remembered the war machines. "Yes. Cesare has commissioned Leonardo da Vinci to build him devices for war. I know the location of those that hold the knowledge of each machine's location."

" _Va bene_. Let's go."

The two men climbed out of the Pantheon, and Ezio was about to lead them to the first Templar Overseer, but he had a question. "You said you would rather avoid sparring within the Pantheon. Why?"

Che Si Aggira smiled as he pulled a certain book out from behind him, a book with a cross on its cover.

"I like to consider myself religious."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Che Si and Ezio raced through Rome on horseback, the Assassin on a white horse, the Prowler on a black one. From the Pantheon they thundered all the way to the Southeastern-most corner of Rome, and by the time they arrived, it was already morning. Standing atop a small cliff, the two deadliest men in Italy stared down at the ruins of some ancient building, one having long since decayed over time. It was most likely built during the Roman empire to honor one god or spirit or something, but now it was just a reminder that all things would come to an end.

"There," Che Si Aggira pointed.

Following the finger, Ezio activated his Sense, and saw a golden figure leading three other red one, with four more red ones standing in formation off the side of the road. Ezio also saw a band of mercenaries standing nearby, their glowing blue forms standing out in drastic contrast to this dark world that only the Auditore could see. Instantly, he had the idea to purchase their service and go from there, but the Prowler had other ideas.

"First one to get the plans wins."

"Wait-!"

But Che Si had already leapt down from the cliff, leaving his horse behind. Sighing in frustration at this sudden turn of events, Ezio did find some merit in this situation, however. Now he could see for himself just how well of a fighter the Prowler of Roma truly was. From up here, Ezio saw a man dressed in the armor of the Papal Guard, three grunts, two pikemen, a regular, and an agile. Daunting odds for sure.

And Che Si Aggira just ran straight into the thick of things.

The man leapt, tackling a grunt to the ground, stabbing him in the throat with his Hidden Blade, and then he was rolling forward as quickly as he went down, rolling in front of the grunt at the back of the formation. The Borgia were still in shock over what happened, and Che Si was _fast_. With a swipe of his arm, he cut open the legs of the second grunt, making him scream and fall to his knees, but then he was silenced when a Hidden Blade was in his throat.

Now, the other two had finally registered that they were being killed off, and drew arms. Che Si stepped right into the face of the Overseer, and the hulking brute of a man wildly swung his sword. The Prowler performed a very impressive back-bend, and the third grunt of the formation was relieved of his head. With this massive opening now presented, Che Si Aggira stabbed upward with his Hidden Blade, but the Overseer was not as vulnerable as he appeared.

The man intercepted the Prowler's wrist.

Too bad the Overseer didn't see Che Si's arm gripping the pistol on his belt. With a loud bang, the Overseer collapsed, blood spurting from the new hole in his head. At this moment, the other Borgia militia had entered the fray, and now Che Si Aggira faced two men armed with spears, a lanky man with a dagger, and a man in armor complete with plumed helmet.

The Prowler drew his sword, which he stole from La Volpe, and stood ready. From his vantage point, Ezio could see his poise, see how his muscles coiled, his body prepared. That was the same way he himself looked when in battle. It felt strange seeing this from an outside point of view, but none of that compared to Ezio' shock at seeing what Che Si Aggira did next.

To start off this second duel, he hurled the empty pistol still in his hand at the face of one of the pikemen, catching the Borgia lapdog completely off guard, and, while Ezio had never been hit in the face by a thrown gun, he imagined it had to have hurt, because the man went down, clutching his nose. The agile pivoted from foot to foot, before striking with an overhead slash with his dagger. Che Si Aggira stepped right into the man's personal space, impaling him on his sword.

With a whip of his body, the dead man was slung off the blade and onto the ground with a wet splat. But the Prowler was hardly done with his onslaught, and this was best proven by when he stepped across the battlefield, stabbed his sword into the face of the other pikeman, then slid across to the regular, the one with the plume, slashing him across the front, making him spin around, and then finished by slashing him across the back.

Ezio's eyes widened beneath his hood, a cold breeze brushing past him. Those moves, that technique...those were _Assassin_ attacks. Those were the skills Ezio saw in himself, saw in his recruits! How did this man, this Prowler of Roma, this figure who wielded a Hidden Blade, this figure who kept his face covered by a hood...know these techniques?

Ezio narrowed his eyes. There was much mystery to Che Si Aggira, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Colli Albani_

 _Spring, 1502_

Ezio and Che Si arrived at the Alban Hills, a location about 12 miles Southeast of Rome, at a little after noon. They stood on a cliff, overlooking the village below. It was a quaint little place, sitting atop a cliff that stood proudly over the lake. Such a shame that this little place was home to the Borgia's terrible weapon.

"The Machine Gun is somewhere below," the Assassin said.

Che Si hummed in agreement. "I think it best that we split up, cover more ground faster."

Ezio shook his head. "I disagree. If one of us finds the weapon before the other, what then? Do I wait for you to arrive? Do you wait for me?"

"Actually…"

SCHUCK

Ezio grunted when a little arrow suddenly pierced his side. He pulled it out, and he felt dizzy. "Poison—why? _Che Si Aggira_ …ugh…" The Auditore collapsed into the world of dreams.

The Prowler stood above the Assassin, a miniature crossbow fitting seamlessly in his hand. "Apologies, _Assassino_ , _non posso ho fottuto i miei piani_. You can understand my pain, since we are siblings in that the Borgia took our families, but unlike you, I don't adhere to a moral code that prevents the taking of 'innocent' life. Don't worry, it's not fatal, just a sleep toxin, and you won't remember a thing when you wake up, either, back in Rome after I drop you off when I'm done here."

His piece said, the reincarnation of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad glided into the village, where he proceeded to murder every last Borgia guard on sight. None were safe from his blade, and all had their blood spilt, and none knew what the cause of their demise was, nor would they ever.

Like his namesake suggested, the Prowler stalked the village, and quickly found the machine's plans, guarded only by a single brute. His life was ended when a blade tore through his armor and skull, and straight into his brain. The plans met their end due to the nearby torch.

After that, all the Prowler did was climb over the wall, and there the machine was, all mounted and pretty, just waiting to be blown up. However, using the Gift, Che Si Aggira saw that the wooden doors to the adjacent stable glowed white, just as the machine gun did. He took that to mean that there was another weapon behind that door.

How to go about that?

First things first, take out the Borgia scum standing nearby. Che Si Aggira retrieved his miniature crossbow, his own creation, from its hiding place on his belt under his cape. He also pulled out a handful of bolts from his pouch and held them at ready. Then, with skill and speed garnered from years of training, the reincarnate Assassin began to fire and reload with almost supernatural speed. In less than two seconds, all Borgia were down with small arrows in their necks, these ones coated in lethal toxin.

The Prowler leapt down from his vantage point, noting the barrels by the machine, barrels no doubt containing gun powder. He walked the small distance from the machine's carriage to the door of the second building…and he promptly knocked like he was visiting a friend.

The door was jerked open, revealing a disgruntled regular, one who was silenced before he could raise any alarm. Jerking his arm away from the dead man's throat, the Prowler turned his body and let the corpse fall, then he entered.

"Vincenzo? Everything okay—Madre de Dio!"

SCHUCK

The Borgia gunner gurgled when an arrow pierced his throat.

Che Si Aggira observed the other machine gun with a hollow gaze. This one had gun powder barrels on board, so that was one problem solved, especially with the rifle of the dead gunner. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. And those horses would be useful, too.

What followed was simple: open the doors, unlatch the horses, lead them out of the way, ignite the barrels by the first machine gun, then shoot the barrels onboard the second machine gun, creating a perfectly timed explosion of dual threat-destroying fire. After a bit of thinking on how to solve the next problem, the reincarnation figured a way to get Ezio on the horse, secured to the horse, and then get the both of them all the way back to Roma.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ezio started with a violent jerk, automatically reaching for his weapons. Then he realized that he was in the countryside of Rome, propped up against the crumbling column of some ancient structure, and his head hurt. There was a not next to him.

 _You took a blow to the head during a battle, and so I had to finish the mission by myself, you_ cretino. _The plans are destroyed and the machine is history. Contact me via the pigeon coops, or just let it slip on the streets that you want to see me._

 _Looking forward to future work_

 _-Prowler of Roma_

Ezio felt a surge of embarrassment at being knocked out, the pain in his head proof of the injury. It must have been a hard blow, too, since he couldn't remember all of the mission. Still, it was a humbling thing, to be struck in such a way. Ezio was very good, but he was not invincible, this experience proved that. Oh well, now he had something to work for during combat training: work on blind spots.

And what about the Prowler, eh? Taking on eight of the Borgia's finest, coming out on top without a scratch, and then proceeding to destroy Leonardo's weapon all by himself, a weapon no doubt under heavy Borgia guard. Now _that_ was some skill. Pigeon coops and whispers on the street, huh? Ezio would indeed be engaging in those practices.

If only to observe more of Che Si Aggira's work.

As Ezio departed for the main city of Roma, he never once looked above him, and therefore he did not see the caped-and-hooded figure that stared silently at his retreating back. Nor did he hear the silent prayer uttered in his favor.

" _Dio, sia con lui in questo viaggio attraverso la vita_. Amen."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Thus concludes the first chapter the Second Life arc. Che Si's sword in this is**_ **La Volpe's Bite** _ **from**_ **Brotherhood.** _ **Google it if you don't remember or don't know. The little crossbow that he uses is directly pulled from the**_ **Lightning Thief** _ **movie, the scene where Annabeth darts the hydra janitors down. For all the Italian in this chapter, use a translator if you're dying to know, and get used to it, for it will be a recurring theme in the Second Life.**_

 _ **Now, Che Si Aggira. His name literally means 'who wanders,' but it also translates as 'prowler,' which is directly taken from**_ **Brotherhood's** _ **Prowler character in the multiplayer. Once more, Google it for a picture.**_

 _ **In all honesty, I personally felt that his introduction was forced, in a way, and just didn't flow seamlessly into the story like Faris' did, but there is a reason. I think it would be rather repetitive to follow the First Life's introduction, starting from immediate birth, bowling through childhood events, and then BAM! He's an Assassin. Of course, there will be an origins chapter, duh, since this one was seriously light on any real development.**_

 _ **At least that's my opinion. Someone else could've thought this was the greatest intro ever.**_

 _ **Anyway, yeah. More Ezio and Che Si in later chapters, more Che Si kicking ass in later chapters, more backstory in later chapters, more Italian in later chapters, more development in later chapters, and more awesomeness in later chapters.**_

 _ **Oh, and for why Che Si knocked out Ezio, it's because when Machiavelli says he is an extremist, he is extreme in that he'll go out of his way to murder anyone bearing the Borgia symbol.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	14. The Second Life: Wolves and Bankers

_The Second Life: Wolves and Bankers_

 _ **Alright, people were generally okay with how Che Si Aggira was introduced, and those that weren't totally on board didn't waste theirs and my time with a detailed review that could be summarized with 'this is shit, go kill yourself.' Points for politeness!**_

 _ **Now, some things that have come to my attention that need to be addressed. I have received multiple reviews from either multiple people, or just one person many times, asking for updates of other stories…in due time, I promise. Those who have been with me know that I will binge a new story to where it's standing strongly on its feet, before shelving it for a time as I return to other stories. So, cool your jets, have some patience, and have faith in me, alright?**_

 _ **Second thing, and this goes out to the guest reviewer**_ Odysseus.

 _ **Percy does not remember all of his past lives for several reasons. First, remembering the lives of great men and woman all at once would crash his brain as several decades of memories flooded in at once. Second, this story operates under the 'parallel time' motif, in which the past, present, and future are all moving in synch, therefore the past is happening at the same time the future is. Finally, I want to.**_

 _ **The way I formatted this story is like the games. Bits and pieces in the present, and larger bits and pieces in the past.**_

 _ **On the subject of Wattpad, an account, and posting there, no. I am devoted to Fanfiction, however there is a person called**_ **Kablamstar** _ **who has my permission to post**_ **Xenomorphic** _ **on Wattpad. So, if you want my stories on Wattpad, ask me permission first please. Thank you.**_

 _ **Now onto the story!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia snickered when Ezio told the tale of how he was knocked unconscious, which left Che Si Aggira to do all the work. Bartolomeo was openly laughing, and Volpe was smirking in good natured fun. Only Machiavelli was unamused.

"Are you sure it was a scuffle with the Borgia that left you unconscious, and not Che Si himself?"

Ezio briefly cocked his head to the side, before righting his neck. "No, not entirely. I have not ruled out the possibility of _antigioco_ , but I choose to have a little faith in the Prowler. Besides, the plans are destroyed, and Leonardo tells me that the Borgia are not happy with the loss of their war machine, which means that Che Si Aggira did what he said he did."

The historian did not look convinced, but he did not press the matter. Instead, he turned his attention to the faction leaders before him. "What have you found out?"

"My girls tell me that Cesare is still in the _Castello_ with the Pope."

"The Baron de Valois occupies the countryside, but my men and I keep him at bay. As long as we fight, the French _puttane_ will not take this city."

"My spies continue to contend with the _Cento Occhi_ , while also searching for information on the Apple."

Machiavelli nodded. " _Va bene_. Ezio,"— "Yes?"— "In light of these circumstances, and lack of a clear opening, I have an assignment for you. Do you remember the pagan cult, the _Secta Luporum_?"

"The Followers of Romulus? Of course." Ezio could still hear their obnoxious howling, grunting, and growling.

"My spies have found another entrance to one of their lairs. It is by the _Piramide Cestia_ , in the Southern Antico district, by the wall."

Ezio nodded, already understanding what was being asked. The annoying Wolfmen were terrorizers who scared the civilian populace into the broad arms of the Catholic Church, a church currently in the slimy hands of the Borgia. Being Assassins, everyone knew that the Followers and the Borgia were close friends, and needed to be carved out of Roma, if the city was to ever reach its former glory.

"I'll head there now. The rest of you, continue with your efforts; it will not be much longer now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Exiting the hideout, Ezio quickly scaled the outer walls to the pigeon coop near the top. Che Si had said to contact him via birds, and so that is what the Assassin did. A pigeon fluttered down to him, and Ezio quickly scribbled a message onto a roll of parchment with a quill and ink that he produced from somewhere. Message done, Ezio sent the pigeon fluttering away, having absolutely no idea how the bird knew where to go, or how exactly Che Si was going to get the message in time.

Eh, unimportant details.

It was night now, and so the streets of Roma were mostly empty, which meant that Ezio didn't have to run over so many people with his trusty horse as he did during the day. Leisurely tearing through the streets for the South, Ezio allowed his mind to wonder on just what he was going to face tonight.

The Followers of Romulus were brutes that dressed in the pelts of wolves, behaved like wolves, worshipped the mythological founder of Rome like a god, terrorized people, wielded daggers and throwing knives, had a shrine in Antico underneath the _Colle Palatino_ with a very nice set of armor occupying the underground maze, aided the Borgia, and were most likely in sexual relationships with wolves.

Beyond that, Ezio stopped listening because the above was more than enough to convince him that these animals needed to be extinct.

By the time he arrived at the _Piramide Cestia_ , the moon was beginning its descent, but was still high in the sky. However, the most important thing about the out-of-place pyramid in Rome, was the caped figure casually leaning on its North-facing side.

"How?" Ezio barked as he approached Che Si Aggira.

The man smirked, his upper face still hidden in the shadow of his hood. "Ways. I got your message."

" _How?_ "

"Ways. I also found the entrance to the _bastardo's_ lair, if you're interested."

Ezio stared just a bit longer, failing to comprehend the enigma before him, before he came to a conclusion. " _Fanculo esso."_ Then he dismounted his horse, ignoring Che Si's amused snort. The Prowler glided to the side of the pyramid, where Ezio saw the tell-tale trap door that was a slide straight down in the Follower's lair.

"After you, _mio amico_."

Ezio rolled his eyes at the bowing-and-gesturing man, and kicked open the door, before entering the darkness. Before he followed, the reincarnate Assassin's eyes, hidden beneath his hood, went colder than the bottom of the Atlantic, and darker than space. The Followers of Romulus...they were like _animals_ …and so Che Si Aggira would _slaughter_ them like animals.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ezio grunted when he came sliding out the tunnel, and into a skeleton, knocking it to the floor. Then he remembered that someone was following him, and he quickly rolled to the side. Just in time too, because Che Si came barreling out of the tunnel, and flopped down right on top of the skeleton.

"Owwwwwwww…"

Ezio chuckled, offering his hand.

" _Figlio di puttana_ ," Che Si grumbled, but he accepted the hand nonetheless. The Prowler looked one way, then he looked the other. "Well, that makes things easy then." One way there was a solid wall, the other way was a hallway that led to somewhere.

Ezio and Che Si Aggira sped off down the chambers, passing skeletons dressed in tattered, ancient robes, the bones having been long since forgotten to time. Most likely they were Ancient Romans, maybe Christians, maybe just people that lacked the funds in life necessary for a decent burial, and were simply tossed down here to rot. Either way, this place was depressing.

Eventually, the two men reached a chamber lit by large braziers, with a gigantic hole in the floor. Ezio grabbed a nearby torch, and dropped it. Neither he nor the Prowler heard when it hit the floor. The caped man whistled. "That's a long way down...be a shame if you fell."

Then he slapped Ezio on the back, making the man stumble forward, but he caught himself before he could enter free-fall. He leveled a glare at the snickering man behind him, then he shoved him. " _Bastardo._ "

Che Si Aggira just snickered. "Come on, the wolves await."

With that, he jumped down the hole, using the niches in the walls as hand-holds to stop his otherwise deadly descent. Ezio followed soon after. They made it to the bottom, where a new set of maze-like tombs became clear. The air was cooler, a bit more musty, and everything was tinged a bluish grey. For an unexplainable reason, Ezio and Che Si felt calmer in these next tombs.

"If you don't mind my asking," Ezio started, "but what do you think of the Followers of Romulus?" The air around the Prowler shifted, and the Assassin subconsciously reached for his sword.

"What do I think of them?" Che Si said distantly. "I suppose...I _hate_ them. I hate them for so many reasons it's almost impossible to describe."

"Do your best."

The hood jerked towards Ezio.

"Alright, since you're so curious. For starters, they are pagans, worshippers of a god that's not even a god in any myth known to man. Second, they perform rituals and blood sacrifices to their false god, and they're not privy to just animals. Thirdly, they are terrorizing scum that take pleasure in the slaughtering of innocents. Fourthly, they are rapists of women and men alike. Fifthly, they hunt and skin wolves for nothing more than their motif, killing animals for no other reason than for a theme. Sixthly, the higher-ups of the Followers are manipulators who prey on the minds of the weak, inducting them into their service, and warping the minds of innocent people into twisted creatures of filth. Seventhly, they are controlled by the Borgia for the sole purpose of terrorizing people to the doors of the false church, which also infuriates me. And finally-!"

Che Si caught himself. At the end of his rant, he was about five inches from Ezio's face, with the Assassin pressed against the wall. If it wasn't for the volume and intensity of the Prowler's words, this would've been considered a moment of homosexuality.

"And finally?" Ezio prompted, serious in the face of danger. Funny thing, even though they were just a few inches apart, Ezio could still not see Che Si Aggira's face.

"And finally...let's just say that where you've lost family to the Borgia, so have I."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The two most dangerous men in Italy continued on in silence until they came across a pair of very big double doors which led to a cathedral. The greatest feature of this cathedral was the giant cross at the far end of the chamber, which was being stabbed at by a wolf pelt-covered man, while another wolf pelt-covered man stood on top of a ledge far above the ground, and behind that ledge was a path to another set of halls.

Then Ezio did something dumb. "I seek those who lead the Followers of Romulus!"

The two Wolfmen flinched, and then ran off, cutting the easy-access rope up to the ledge.

" _Ottimo lavoro, idiota_ ," Che Si deadpanned, his first words since his rant, "now we have to go through the painstaking effort of climbing through this conveniently placed course of climbing stuffs."

Ezio just shrugged, and got to climbing. Che Si grumbled to himself, before following. With deft skill and prowess, the two quickly made their way across the beams and stones, reaching the top of the cross, and then jumping to the ledge, hauling themselves up, and proceeded to haul ass down the winding corridors. They could feel it now, they were close to the end.

The Assassin and the Prowler wound their way through the curves of the catacombs, following the torch lights. At their pace, they found their destination quickly. Another chamber, this one populated by a large central pillar, niches for more dead people, and several levels that could be used to reach greater heights. Built along the sides of the pillar was scaffolding for climbing.

Bastardized howling reverberated through the chamber, causing Ezio to ready himself for combat, and Che Si Aggira to scowl deeply. The sound of scraping was heard, followed by mad cackling. A Follower strolled out from behind the pillar, accompanied by several more Wolfmen, dragging his knife across the stone.

"Hear us, O Romulus! What must we do to these trespassers?"

The gates around the circular floor slammed shut, and the wolves descended. However, they were not fast enough to interrupt Che Si Aggira's words to Ezio. "Go and find your scroll. I'll deal with the _cani_."

Ezio nodded and dropped a smoke bomb, filling the chamber with smoke, which gave him the opening necessary for making a break for the scroll. He did not question the Prowler, for he had confidence in the man's abilities. Besides, there was a clear underlying motive for Che Si to do this, and it revolved around vengeance. And Ezio was just fine with someone avenging their family.

With the Assassin gone, the reincarnation of Faris drew his sword. There was another reason he wanted to do this alone, and it was a simple reason: these animals were an affront to his teacher.

The smoke hadn't even dissipated before Che Si Aggira was butchering people. He impaled the first Follower hilt deep into the bladder, then violently ripped out his sword. The whirled around and nearly decapitated the second Follower. He leapt forward, stabbing the third Follower in the throat, then he slid about six feet across the terrain of battle, and sliced the fourth Follower in half at the waist, spilling blood and guts all over the floor.

There was more howling, more grunting, and more of the sound of heavy bodies hitting stone. More Followers. Che Si Aggira's face broke into a snarl so vicious, it could've made any dragon cower away. The Prowler gripped his sword with two hands, taking up the whole hilt in his grip. And then he was moving.

The reincarnation of Faris channeled his wrath into his strikes, and he cleaved through blades, skin, muscle, and bone like tissue paper, painting the catacombs red and decorating them with viscera. Emotion overcame the man—emotion coming straight from his memories. Memories of his house on fire, his father torn apart and strewn across the front porch, his mother impaled to the door via a wooden stake, pages of the Bible stuffed in her mouth and eyes, and his little sister with wolf fangs shoved into her-

" **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"**

Che Si Aggira roared, and the poor, poor Follower of Romulus, a boy no older than fifteen, was split right down the middle, his dagger being cleaved in half, the ends of the blade glowing red-hot from their sudden separation. The Prowler's sword did not stop there, but it went down into the very stone itself, breaking it, releasing a blast of pressurized air that pushed the red ocean and the body-shaped islands on the floor out to the walls.

Breathing labored, the man fell to his knees, his stained sword clattering next to him. Che Si continued to breath heavily, even as the red tide came back in, washing over his hands. After more minutes of simply kneeling, he raised back up to his knees, and his hood came down.

The Prowler was a handsome youth that couldn't be any more than 25. He had brown hair that was neatly cut, an angular jaw and cheek bones, and dark, narrow eyes. He seemed to take more after his mother, if the angularity of his features was anything to go by, but it was this face and those eyes that managed to woo many courtesans, and inspire great faith in men.

The man surveyed the carnage around him, and he felt shame. That was not how a follower of God should've acted. This was nothing more than slaughter sewn by the claws of some kind of animal. With a small smirk, Che Si Aggira blamed his teacher for his…animalistic ferocity. Still, when he drew upon the emotions that came from _that_ night, he knew a physical power beyond that of ten men.

Modern day science calls that an 'adrenaline rush,' but the people of the 16th century called that an act of God.

Regardless of what it was called, the Prowler of Rome did not like it when it happened. He broke the Commandments on an almost daily basis, and as a follower of God, that was hardly anything to brag about. It wasn't even right to _hate_ the Followers of Romulus as much as he did, but he still wished for nothing more than for all of them to disappear into the fires of the Inferno. And so Che Si prayed.

"God _, accettare queste anime perdute tra le tue braccia con gentilezza. Anche se erano pagani in questa vita, far loro credere in voi nel prossimo. Per favore, mi assolvere dal peccato che mi contamina tutti i giorni come ho tentativo di liberare Roma dalla tirannia dei Borgia. Amen."_

His prayer said, he picked up his sword, which had been submerged in blood, cleaned it off on his sleeve, which was also deeply stained with the life fluid of others, and let it slide into its place on his belt. Then he sloshed through the blood to a pillar, scaled it, and then proceeded to climb his way out if this Lair of Romulus.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days after the raid on the Lair of Romulus, Ezio sent out a carrier pigeon with a message for Che Si Aggira, asking him to meet at _Isola Tiberina_. Come nightfall, the Assassin saw a caped figure casually leaning against the wall next to the Blacksmith's shop.

"It is good to see you unharmed, Che Si."

"And you as well, Ezio. I trust you found what you were looking for in the Lair?"

"Indeed. Are you aware of the armor that lies beneath _Colle Palatino_?"

"Yes, it once belonged to Marcus Junius Brutus, one of the assassinators of Julius Caesar. Now it serves as a symbol of worship for the bastard followers of Romulus, locked behind unbreakable gates, and surrounded by treasure and gold. Let me guess, you seek to unlock the gate and claim the armor for yourself."

"It would be a great tool to have against the Borgia."

"I suppose. So, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

Ezio smirked. "I wanted to bring you into the fold."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Entering the hideout, the two found Caterina Sforza in a purple dress, sitting on a couch, and Niccolò Machiavelli standing over her. Hearing footsteps, the man turned around, and immediately gasped at what he saw.

"Che Si Aggira!"

"Hi."

"Ezio! What is the meaning of this!?"

The man in question cocked a brow. "He has proven to be a worthy fighter and a keen ally, and he has a knowledge of Rome that his more extensive than my own. I brought him here because I think he can help us."

"But-!"

"Machiavelli," La Volpe suddenly cut in, silencing the man. "I agree with Ezio. Che Si Aggira is a man of many talents…and I want my sword back."

"You can have it back if you can steal it back."

The master thief's eyes narrowed. "Challenge accepted. Anyway, Bartolomeo sends his regards. The French have doubled their efforts, and have put him on the offensive."

"Ah, I'll have my men start working on that."

Claudia Auditore entered, and when she did, her gaze…lingered…on the Prowler, before it went disapproving when it slid to her brother.

"Claudia."

"Ezio."

The exchange was tense, obviously, and it prompted a response.

"You know, when my sister and I fought, we made up by beating each other silly. You two might want to try it sometime."

Ezio looked at the Prowler, but he shook his head. "Anyway, I have a plan to deal with the Borgia."

Machiavelli responded with: "We can either go after supplies, or Cesare's followers."

"Why not both?"

"My plan is to attack both," Ezio said loudly. "If we cut off his funds, Cesare will lose his army and return without his men. So, I ask you, where does he get his money?" He looked to his right, "Volpe?"

The man put a hand to his chin. "Agostino Chigi is the Pope's money-lender…but Cesare does business with someone else. As of now, all we know is that he is called 'The Banker.'"

Claudia piped up, her finger pointed at nothing in particular. "I know someone who owes The Banker money. Senator Egidio Troche comes in all the time and complains."

"Ohhhh!" Che Si exclaimed. "Egidio! I know that man. He smells and doesn't ever keep his promises…I also know the Banker, too, if you're interested."

He was on the receiving end of five silent stares.

"Not everyone ask for an explanation at once—so. The Banker's real name if Juan Borgia the Elder, older cousin of Juan Borgia the Younger, and therefore cousin of Cesare and his bitch. The man is fat, vulgar, disgusting, and has a god complex. He's a cruel _bastardo_ , and won't hesitate to kill anyone who crosses him, in strange ways. He's fond of throwing themed sex parties, and my spies tell me that he plans for a party this weekend, at the _Trastevere_ , based around one of the many pagan religions."

He was on the receiving end of five silent stares.

"What? Forgive me for having a better _rete di spionaggio_ than any of you."

"Okay…" Ezio drew out, then he clapped his hands together. "Well, that takes care of the money, now for the army."

"French soldiers are guarding the road back into the _Castello_. Once Cesare arrives, you will never get to him," Machiavelli said.

"I intend to kill the French general. With him dead, Bartolomeo will have the Frenchmen on the defensive and they will abandon their posts on the bridge."

"I have an idea on how do that. Ever heard of Troy?"

Then Caterina said her first words of the meeting, "Even with those troops gone, the Papal Guard will continue to protect the inner gate."

"And the only reason Ezio and I can't just storm the place is because you people have a _credo_ that prohibits high-profile action…even though it's easier and takes much less time."

"There is a side entrance," La Volpe said, completely ignoring Che Si remark, "Lucrezia's latest plaything, Pietro, has a key."

"Ah, yes, Pietro Rossi. Actor from Ferrara, and currently a member of the _Cardinal Raffaele Riario_. If memory serves, that group is set to perform a Passion play in a few years. Oh, and get this: Lucrezia is only dealing with the poor _cani_ because she wants top piss off Cesare, and had a guard watching them as Pietro confessed his love for her."

"And how do you know this?" Machiavelli rumbled.

"Because that guard is one of my spies."

"You have spies in the Borgia ranks!?" Ezio nearly yelled.

"I have spies everywhere," the Prowler said cryptically.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Che Si Aggira stood atop the Assassin's hideout, and watched the interaction between Ezio and Caterina, one which ended with the Forli woman riding over the bridge with a fist in the air. " _Vittoria agli Assassini_!"

Before Ezio went back inside his headquarters, the Prowler yelled out. "Hey, Ezio!" The man yelped, drawing his sword, clearly having not expected anyone to be around. Che Si snickered. "After you change your _pantaloni_ and kill the Banker, come find me, and we will deal with the Baron de Valois!"

The Assassin nodded, and disappeared into the hideout.

Che Si Aggira also disappeared into the night, although his destination was not for a bed, but for the _Rosa in Fiore_. He wanted to get to know Claudia Auditore better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Night Ezio goes to kill the Banker_

"Che Si Aggira…my girls talk about you often," Claudia said casually upon leading the man to a private room. She had a dagger with her, though she doubted she would need it. The man before radiated no ill-will, and seemed genuine in his desire to talk and converse.

And in all honesty, Claudia wished to do the same.

She had heard many stories, all of them confusing. Some said he was Romeo given true form, some said he was worse than Cesare. However, all said he was a great fighter, and was not afraid to take on the Borgia. Claudia wanted to know the truth for herself. That, and with his hood down, the Prowler of Roma was _very_ cute.

"There is even a competition going on to see who can get in bed with you first. You are the most desired bachelor in all of Roma," Claudia said with a slight giggle.

Che Si laughed, a rich, warm resonance that made the Auditore girl blush as a few butterflies fluttered in her stomach, all of them no doubt awoken by the sound of the Prowler.

"I'm afraid that all of them will fail, _mia signora_."

"And why is that?"

"I am a follower of Christ, and His teachings dictate that such actions are only to be performed after marriage, and only with the one you are married to."

Claudia adopted a confused look. "But you and my girls…?"

"A few kisses here and there and some flirting is hardly anything sinful."

"I see. Do you plan to marry someday?" It was a simple, innocent little question, but Claudia wanted to ask for her own reasons.

Seriously, as far as the Auditore's love life went, there wasn't one. She spent her life in this brothel, managing a spy network of whores who procured their information by sleeping with anything that had a _cazzo_ and walked on two legs. She was surrounded on all sides daily by sleazes and perverts, men who were only for a _micio_ , and not a chance at love.

In her youth, Claudia had had many suitors, all of them worthy for nothing more than being a plaything due to their naivete, immaturity, or baseness. Looking back, Claudia wished she had kept in touch with at least one boy, so that she might have a chance at some romance in this life of crime and adultery.

However, vain as it may be, perhaps there was some small sliver of hope to be found in the enigma that is Che Si Aggira.

"One day, yes," he answered. "But as long as the Borgia continue to strangle Roma, I fear that day will have to wait, for I cannot split my attention between a wife and freeing this city from its oppressors."

The passion in his voice was endearing to Claudia. It reminded her of Ezio, and beyond even that, it reminded her of how her father would often speak of Florencia, and the Auditore family. With pride, honor, and love.

"Ah, well with you and my brother now joining arms against the Borgia, perhaps that day will come sooner rather than later."

Che Si looked at Claudia, his dark eyes seeming to stare through her with a kind of warm mirth, one that quickened the woman's heartbeat with something that wasn't fear.

"Yes, one day…perhaps it will…" he trailed off, distractedly. Then he switched subjects. "I noticed some tension back on _Isola Tiberina_ between you and Ezio on that night. Am I allowed to be let in on that story, or am I not with that level of standing yet, _mia signora_?"

Claudia snorted, finding humor in his words and teasing tone. She took a seat on the couch next to the Prowler, seeing as her legs were starting to hurt from standing for such a time. She sighed as she began her tale.

"When the Borgia attacked Monteriggioni, and destroyed our villa, Ezio helped us escape, and before he rode for Roma, he told Mother and I to go to Florencia and wait for him. Instead of doing that, we came here, and took over the _Rosa in Fiore_. That has made Ezio mad, that we did not follow his _ordini_ like his recruits."

Che Si Aggira chuckled.

"His anger is not directed at you for disobeying his 'orders,' his anger is directed at you because he desired to keep you safe by putting you out of harm's way, and yet here you are, in the middle of a _guerra ombra_. He is merely being a big brother, trying to protect his little sister from the evils of the world."

"I…see," Claudia said in a quiet voice, her entire perception the world suddenly shifted by Che Si's observation.

"Give him time, _mia signora_ , and he will come to see you as the strong woman that you are."

…

"'Strong woman that you are'?" Claudia broke into a fit of giggles.

"W-What?" the Prowler laughed uncertainly. "I thought it was fitting!"

"I agree," she said, after calming down a bit, "it's just, I've never heard another man speak like that before. You truly are one of a kind, Che Si Aggira."

The man smiled, a breathtakingly handsome sight that had Claudia warming up in a way that she had never felt before. To distract herself from this foreign heat, she said, "You sound experienced in dealing with _sorelline_."

He nodded. "I am. I once had a sister to call my own, but she…but she's in a better place now."

"Oh." And suddenly the mood was ruined. "The Borgia?"

A stiff nod.

"That is why you fight, isn't it? For _vendetta_."

"And _giustizia_ , so that there will be no more orphans, and no more siblingless siblings."

Silence pervaded the atmosphere, and Claudia felt immeasurable guilt well up inside her. Dammit, the one man she might've had a small shot with, and now she was bringing up memories of his dead family. Stupid!

"I'm sorry, I should not have-"

"No, it is fine. I have…kept that to myself for years now. _Grazie_ , Claudia."

"For what?"

"For getting me to open up."

Che Si Aggira looked deep into the Auditore's eyes, spilling forth an emotion that could not be described with words. Claudia met this gaze, and that persistent warmth form before seemed to explode through her body at registering that look in those dark orbs. Claudia was pulled into them, sucked down into their depth, and wrapped tightly in their comforting heat.

"I-I'm glad to have helped," she said softly.

She didn't know their lips were mere millimeters apart until there was a rumpus from the main hall, and both their minds snapped back to reality. Their eyes caught for a moment, a kind of sadness present in both their soulful windows, both of them not happy to have been interrupted as they had been.

Claudia broke eye contact first when there was a louder crash from outside, and she rushed to find out what it was, Che Si Aggira right behind her. Throwing open the door, the two were treated to the sight of four Borgia dogs in armor, complete with plumed helmets. Despite herself, Claudia smiled.

Her knife was suddenly in her hand.

"Do you want me to-"

"Nope. I got this."

Their dialogue attracted the attention of the Borgia, and they turned around. "There's the Auditore! Get her!"

Despite her dress, Claudia had no problem maneuvering the chosen battlefield. She strafed toward the door, and the first Borgia slashed at her. She sidestepped, causing him to overextend, and then she stabbed him in the back of the throat, yanked her blade out, and let him fall to the floor.

He hadn't had a chance to impact before Claudia was at the next Borgia.

He raised his sword to attack, but the woman was faster. She grabbed his arm, and proceeded to stab him multiple times in the chest. She let him fall to his face. Claudia spun around, stabbing and impaling the third Borgia in the side of his neck, and then whipped her arm about, causing the dying man to fall across his fallen comrade's legs, chest pointed towards the ceiling.

Just like that, three of the Borgia had been killed and the floor was lined up next. Che Si Aggira just stood off to the side, hood now up. He was pretty sure he was witnessing love at first sight.

The fourth man attempted to strike, but Claudia was once again faster, and once again proved that her dress could not hamper her movements. The man swung from down low, but the Auditore brought her leg up, blocking the strike by hitting the Borgia's wrist with the sole of her foot. This left his neck exposed, and Claudia wasted no time in dispatching him.

The force she used to yank her knife out of the fresh corpse caused the body to stand back up and immediately fall to his back, not even an inch away from Claudia. Off to the side, Che Si Aggira whistled lowly, and then slowly clapped his hands together. Claudia accepted this praise with a grin. Then Ezio came bursting through the door.

The Assassin surveyed the damage to the _Rosa in Fiore_ with a stunned look, taking note of the four dead bodies, and the pools of blood that were quickly growing beneath them. His gaze eventually found purchase on his sister.

"What?"

Ezio regained his bearings. "My sister knows how to wield a knife," he said proudly."

Claudia flipped the small blade around in her hand, going from icepick to hammer. "And I'm ready to do it again," she smiled.

"Spoken like a true Auditore."

"Finally, you two came to your senses. It is about time!" Maria Auditore said, entering from somewhere.

That's when Ezio noticed the other guy. "Che Si? What are you doing here?"

"I invited him over to discuss what he knew of the Borgia," Claudia said, "and any ideas he had for taking them down."

"And?"

"And we were interrupted," spoke the Prowler. "I arrived not five minutes ago."

"Ah, well, if you still have the time, we can discuss your ideas in a private room."

"Yes," Claudia said. "Let us do that."

She strolled up the stairs with a sideways glance at Che Si, and then there was a most curious sway in her hips. Ezio cocked a brow at this strange behavior, but then the dots connected when it was the Prowler that moved first before anyone else. Ezio felt a sudden rush of Protective Brother Syndrome, but before he could act, his mother was one foot away from his face, hands on her hips, glare firmly in place.

"Do anything to break them apart, and I break you. _Capito, ragazzo_?"

Ezio managed to squeak out at " _Si, Mamma_."

Maria beamed. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, my son."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Things are moving along quite nicely, I think.**_

 _ **So, a little bit of insight on to Che Si Aggira's past, and his hatred for the Followers of Romulus, and an Easter Egg as to who trained him, for those that were paying attention, as well as the cemented pairing for this arc. Was the talk good? Did it make sense? Was it believable? As a young man that has never had a girlfriend, romance is not my thing.**_

 _ **Oh, and how about the talk at the hideout? I personally found it hilarious.**_

 _ **Anyway, Happy Easter!**_


	15. The Second Life: Baron and the Fallout

_The Second Life: The Baron and the Fallout_

 _ **Welcome back, people. This chapter's simple, and its title is pretty clear. Here, the Baron de Valois is done away with, and the Key to the Castello sequence is covered.**_

 _ **In previous chapters, I've said that Che Si Aggira is an 'extremist.' I'm surprised no one's been like: I haven't seen him do anything extreme. Well, that'll change this chapter, and it'll cause the relationship between Ezio and Che Si to be strained almost to nonexistence.**_

 _ **But no one panic because we all know how that song and dance plays out.**_

 _ **Also, I'm thinking about writing my own novel. Select reviewers have already been asked about it, but if you want details, PM me for more information.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With the amount of things to do in Roma, time passed quickly. Ezio and Che Si Aggira took it the Borgia sideways while running, taking out the remaining war machines, Assassinating the many Templar agents that oppressed and terrorized the city, taking out the many Borgia soldiers throughout the city that were handed special assignment via Cesare, destroying the Borgia Towers and killing their respective Captains, pooling their money into renovating Rome, bringing it back to glory, assisting the Courtesans and Thieves in their endeavors against traitors, drunks, politicians, and the _Cento Occhi_ , and eliminating those that worshipped Romulus like a god.

Ezio also made it a point to recruit more people to his cause, sending them out all across Europa in an endeavor to both end any Borgia influence abroad, and help those in need. It was a successful campaign, and the Novices all became Masters in time. Most of them, anyway. Despite their skill, they were not invincible, and for every ten citizens Ezio recruited, one Assassin lost their life. Such was the price of leadership, and it was a burden that Ezio accepted with sadness in his heart, and steel in his conviction.

On a side note, the Tailors and Blacksmiths made a killing in the robes, arms, and armor industry.

The relationship between Che Si Aggira and Claudia Auditore flourished under the watchful protection of one Maria Auditore. The two could often be found on the balcony of the _Rosa in Fiore_ , staring out over the _Tevere_ , either idly chatting about the wistful future, or simply enjoying the other's company in the calming light of the sunset. Every once in a blue moon, Che Si would take his lover out to the countryside, showing her the ancient ruins of the great Roman Empire, and impress her with his knowledge over each landmark.

When he and Ezio raided the _Palazzo Laterano_ , a quiet, decrepit place that still managed to hold a peaceful air around it, the Assassin attempted to use his 'Big Brother' card on the Prowler…which met with limited results, seeing as how Che Si Aggira revealed himself to be a big brother too, only that his sister was dead, which made the rest of the raid an awkward one, until Ezio attempted to break the ice with a question on the further specifics of Che Si's spy network.

He responded that Ezio knew them well, seeing as how they lined the streets of Rome in groups of four, and constantly talked about how they were going to light a few fire's in the Borgia's barracks.

But enough about the past. Instead, let's focus on the past!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1502_

 _Caserma di Alviano_

Ezio and Che Si Aggira came sprinting into the home of one Bartolomeo d'Alviano, and his wife, Pantasilea, racing each other for the mere fun of it, only to enter the walls and immediately receive a blade to their face.

"Who goes there!?" said one unhappy Mercenary faction leader.

Ezio moved the point of Bianca out of his face with a fingertip. " _Salve_ to you too."

Bartolomeo's face brightened. "Ezio! Che Si! I was expecting my wife."

The Prowler raised a brow, while the Assassin was more vocal, "Somehow that does not surprise me."

The Mercenary sheathed his sword, and all three men noticed the limping man hobble past, supported by two others.

"The French _puttane_ have us under pressure."

"Clearly."

"Tell me about their general, this…Baron de Valois."

"Ezio, I could've done that on the way here."

"Cesare persuaded King Loise to lend him an entire army to defeat me." Bartolomeo put his hand on his chest. "I'm flattered."

"And I'm apparently being ignored."

"Where can I find him?" Ezio asked.

"Their camp is that way. Want me to take you there?"

"It's only a matter of time before I have Valois by the throat. We have them in retreat."

" _Cazzo voi due_."

Just then, a bullet came sailing in from elsewhere, impacting the wall about two inches from Che Si Aggira's head. To his credit, the man did not flinch, but instead said this: "Retreat. I do not think that word means what you think it means."

Bartolomeo waved his hand. "The situation is under control—"

A man came running in from the west. "Shut the gates!"

"I do not think 'control' means what you think it means, either."

" _Bene_. I could use some help."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ezio found himself annoyed at his circumstances.

Waves, and slews, and battalions, and bunches, and clusters, and formations, and all manner of the word 'groups' just came swarming in from seemingly every direction. As bodies fell one after the other, and more bodies just came sprinting in to refill the lost numbers, Ezio was beginning to wonder if there was any merit in any other strategy than to just let the French swarm in here to their deaths. Seriously, Ezio was beginning to start tripping over corpses he didn't remember leaving there.

"Ezio! Shut the gates!"

Oh, right. Not everyone present could spend the entire day carving through bodies and walk away without a scratch or a hint of fatigue. So, Ezio began to make a conscious effort to wade his way through the endless ocean of people to the gate levers. Che Si had disappeared sometime prior, but he was most likely painting the barracks red with French blood.

"Ezio! Shut the gates!"

Ezio managed to cut down enough men to where he could stand by the lever, but a new problem presented itself. This thing was heavy, and it took time to move heavy things, and in the middle of this battle, Ezio did not have time. His armor could only protect so much of his body for so long, and a hood did not do well in protecting the one's head.

"Ezio! Shut the gates!"

Not having any good ideas at the moment, and with more French soldiers pouring in by the dozen, Ezio made a snap decision, and dropped a smoke bomb at his feet. Instantly, the area was shrouded in obscuring gas, causing the Frenchmen to heave and cough and cover their eyes. Ezio just took a deep breath and shut his own optical organs, and got to work and moving this damn lever. With a grunt, the gate came down.

"They're coming from the other side! Defend the other entrance!"

Eye twitching dangerously, Ezio attempted to do just that, only there was a small army between him and the aforementioned other entrance. Swallowing his vexation, the Assassin set about getting over there, and, to save time, he skipped killing the dozen or so men before him in favor of simply barreling across the courtyard. Good news was that he found Che Si Aggira, surrounded by his own growing mass of corpses, valiantly trying to defend the gate; bad news was that all the Frenchmen Ezio ignored about five seconds ago all came rushing into battle, with one man deciding it would be a great idea to bowl Ezio over.

"Ezio! Shut the gate!"

Grumbling to himself, Ezio flipped himself up onto his feet, sword in hand, ready to kill more people. He joined with the Prowler, and together did the two men cut down swarms of enemy Frenchies. Their swords seemed to blur through the air, and no defense of any man was near enough to save them from the onslaught of the Assassin and the Prowler. After what felt like hours, but wasn't even a full minute, Ezio and Che Si stood in the middle of their own graveyard.

"The other entrance!"

The Auditore was just about to do that, but another wave of the boys in blue came streaming into the barracks, much to the two men's unending ire. Still, there was no time for complaint, and they were quickly wading their way through Frenchmen once again. However, during the battle, Che Si found time for conversation.

"Hey, Ezio?"

"Yes?"

"You know what would be useful right now?"

"An army of our own?"

"Yes, that would be excellent. Do you know anyone that has an army on hand?"

"Bartolomeo, Cesare, Octavian de Valois, King Louis, the British king, and some others."

"Well, you're not wrong, but do you know who else has an army on standby, just waiting for the signal to fight?"

"Uh…"

Che Si dispatched the last Frenchman of the current wave, and he rounded on Ezio, his head superimposed against the world.

"CALL YOUR FUCKING RECRUITS, YOU ITALIAN SHIT STAIN!"

"…oh."

Ezio raised his fist, and suddenly there were six figures in white robes like his own. The reason behind that was that this batch of recruits were no longer Novices, but Masters, those who had risen through the ranks, completed daunting tasks, and held true to the Creed. While they may have been wearing an outfit like Ezio's, none of them had a secondary Hidden Blade.

"Ezio! Shut the Gate!"

Upon the six Assassins' arrival, the evening air was filled with the sounds of gunfire as Hidden Guns were discharged one after the other. Suddenly, Ezio and Che Si Aggira had much more breathing room than before. The second gate was soon shut, and the two were moving to the third and final gate.

"Ezio! Shut the Gate!"

"If you don't _stai zitto_ , I will stand here and watch as a _Francese_ shoves his sword _su per il culo_!"

Bartolomeo wisely stopped barking out pointless orders after that. With Ezio and Che Si Aggira now up front, along with the Assassin Masters, the remaining French soldiers were quickly thinned out, but another wave arrived just as the gate was shut. Those soldiers were also cut down with haste.

At the end of the battle, the barracks were so filled with blood that there was a standing puddle from wall to wall, one that the spaces between the gates were slow to drain, and there were so many bodies it was impossible to step anywhere without having to make a conscious effort to not put your foot on a corpse. It went without saying that this place _stank_.

"The Baron de Valois signals from the field!"

The survivors of the French assault gathered at the gate, where they saw a contingent of Frenchies all centered a man in golden armor sitting atop a horse. Words were exchanged between Bartolomeo and Octavian, words that revealed that the French had kidnapped Pantasilea.

"I will get you! _Pezzo di merde figlio di puttana_!"

Bartolomeo made for the nearest horse, Ezio following, but Che Si Aggira was quick to stop them.

"Move, Che Si! Before I move you!"

"Calm down, _grande uomo_. _Calmati_."

The mercenary's eyes flashed with fury. "Calm down!? That French _bastardo_ has my wife, and you expect me to calm down!? _MOSSA_!"

"There's nothing to worry about, _mio amico_. It's all part of the plan."

" _WHAT PLAN!?"_

The Prowler remained undaunted. "The plan where Pantasilea allows herself to be kidnapped so that her husband and his army may walk into _Castra Praetoria_ under the guise of French soldiers and catch the Baron by surprise which will allow Ezio or you or me the opportunity to kill him and break a huge part of Cesare's army."

Bartolomeo blinked. "Huh?"

Che Si Aggira smirked. "I told you: Troy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, how many suits of armor do you think we'll need to pull this off?"

"Eh, 20 should be fine."

"And where do you suppose we can find the armor that is required for your idea?"

"Other than their fortress, the French have several smaller camps that dot the district."

"And you know where all of them are, don't you?"

" _Puoi scommetterci il culo dolce che faccio_."

Ezio snorted in good humor. "Well, then. Lead the way, O Great Prowler of Roma."

"Gladly."

Che Si Aggira took off into the night, the Assassin hot on his heels. A full moon shined above, providing a great amount of luminance against the darkness. That was good though, for tonight would be the last for many sons, husbands, brothers, uncles, cousins, and friends. It was only just for their last night to be one of calm warmth, and still radiance.

In the West was the first French camp found.

"How do you propose we do this without a fight? Walking in with damaged armor soaked in blood will not be beneficial to our endeavor for secrecy and surprise."

"Ezio," Che Si said sternly. "No matter how you go about doing this, blood is going to get on the armor. That being said, how good is your aim with that crossbow?"

The Assassin pulled the weapon over his shoulder, aimed it at the French guard standing on top of the scaffolding, and fired. The man went down with an arrow in his throat.

"Alright, not bad. Now just keep aiming for the neck, and we should be good."

"How about a challenge?"

"Hm?"

"Don't get into open conflict."

"You mean don't be detected?"

"More or less."

Che Si Aggira put a hand to his chin in thought. "Mmmmmm…nope!"

Ezio balked as the one courting his sister bolted off into the French camp without so much as a thought of stealth. Still stunned at the sudden rejection of his idea, Ezio just stood there as the sounds of screaming Frenchmen reached his ears, along with the sound of French cursing. The Assassin finally overcame his stupor when the night became silent again.

He entered the French encampment, and found himself somewhat stunned at the…it wasn't really _carnage_ , but it wasn't exactly _clean_ either. The eleven men that were stationed here were all dead of course, and all of them had arrows either in their throats or their eyes. The armor, for the most part, was blood-free, so that was a plus.

And there was the Prowler, casually leaning against the side of a tent with a grin on his face, small crossbow in hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You know we're going to have to take out any patrols on the way to the _Castra Praetoria_ , so that we aren't recognized, right."

" _Si_."

"You want to do it, or should I?"

"Why not both of us together?"

"Because I want to do as little movement as possible in this French _cazzate_."

Ezio shrugged. "Fair enough."

And so the small army marched through the rural streets of Roma to the French's forward base of operations, with Ezio making short work of the odd patrol here and there so that the battalion would not be found out to be frauds. They made it to the French camp, where the idiots on duty believed Ezio's spiel of French, and when Bartolomeo asked how Ezio knew French, his answer caused Che Si Aggira to snort.

"There were a few French girls in Firenze."

The disguised battalion walked the streets of the large camp, with Frenchmen on all sides sneering and jeering.

The Prowler leaned in next to Ezio. "Are these _idiotas_ truly this dumb, or is it just me?"

"I believe it is God helping us out."

Che Si bobbed his head once. "Indeed, He is."

They all found Octavian de Valois standing atop a flight of stairs, holding Pantasilea one hand, pressing a long, golden wheellock to her head.

"Général d'Alviano. It seems that you have seen the light," said the French general, his accent thick and heavy.

"Enough of your crap. Release my wife."

The Baron's eyebrows rose. "Such entitlement from a man born with nothing to his name."

Bartolomeo sneered. "Mine is worth its currency. Unlike yours, which is counterfeit."

Octavian upturned his nose. "How dare you?"

"You think that commanding an army grants you nobility? Nobility comes from fighting besides your soldiers, not kidnapping a woman to cheat your way out of battle! Why don't you grow a pair, and release my wife?!"

"You savages never learn," sneered the Baron de Valois.

"Well, this has been fun," and with that, Che Si Aggira had his crossbow in one hand, and a slew of small bolts in the other, and unloaded on the Frenchies. The Baron took an arrow to the hand, then one to the eye, then one to the other eye, and the two Papal guards standing nearby took multiple arrows to the throat. "But I have other things to do today that don't involve Frenchmen."

And just like that, all Hell broke loose within _Castra Praetoria_.

The mercenaries made hilariously short work of all opposition, and Ezio and Che Si Aggira delved into their usual one-sided slaughter fest, which only quickened the pace at which the French dropped like flies. In under ten minutes, the fortress had been cleared out, and the only ones still alive spoke fluent Italian and English.

The Assassin and the Prowler watched with warm smiles as Bartolomeo and his wife reunited, and the two were content to leave them in peace, but the caped man saw something that he wanted. He walked over to the Baron's still-warm corpse, and picked up the tube-like gun. Ezio cocked a brow.

"I'm going to keep this."

"Why?"

"Because you have a Hidden Blade, I have a Hidden Blade. You have a sword, I have a sword. You have a crossbow, I have a crossbow. You have a gun, and now I have a gun, only mine is better."

Ezio just shook his head. _'This is the man Claudia is going to marry? Unbelievable_.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Rosa in Fiore_

"Was it always your plan to use Bartolomeo's wife as an excuse to waltz into the French camp?" Claudia asked.

In was night. The waning moon provided light in the darkness, but not as much as the soft glow of the many torches and lanterns of Roma. The Auditore woman and her lover stood together on the outside balcony, staring out over the _Tevere_ , out over the countryside of Rome.

"Not always. I had a few more before I came up with that one, but the Trojan Horse idea was the one that took less time and was more practical."

"I see."

The two fell into a comfortable silence for a time, until Che Si broke it.

"It won't be long now, _amore_. Ezio has done great work against the Borgia, more than I would have on my own. Already, we've taken Cesare's funds, his army, his Captains, his Templar Agents, and so much more still. Now we just have to meet with Volpe and discuss what his spies have found in regards to Pietro and that key. After that, it's just a quick raid on the _Castello_ , and a small hunt for the Apple."

"And then we can begin a new life together?"

Che Si kissed Claudia on the lips, doing nothing more than that. They separated, one blushing and smiling softly, the other grinning with radiance.

" _Si_. _Tia mo, Auditore da Firenze_."

" _E io ti amo, Che Si Aggira da Roma_."

Che Si smirked. "Cavaliere."

"Pardon me?"

"My name…it's Virgil Cavaliere."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

August 1503

More time passed since the death of the Baron de Valois, and Ezio and Che Si Aggira solidified their control of Rome, eradicating the very last remnants of Borgia influence. All that was left now was to retrieve the key to the _Castello_ , and put an end to Cesare and Rodrigo.

The Prowler hadn't told Ezio his real name yet, more for his own amusement than anything.

The two arrived at _La Volpe Addormentata_ , and entered it to find the usual sight of the Thieves Guild. Thieves milling about, people at the bar, and a few women here and there. However, the newest and most out of place feature was the absurd amount of knives stabbed into a beam. Approaching it, La Volpe himself appeared from the other side.

"Ezio, Che Si...I still want my sword back."

"You can have it when you can steal it back."

"It's time," Ezio said heavily, "to pay a visit to Lucrezia's lover."

The Fox raised a brow. "Shouldn't your own spy network know where Pietro is and what he's doing?"

"I decided to give them a break and let your own spies do some work."

"Right," Volpe said dryly. "I have sent my men out to find him."

The Assassin grinned. " _Molto bene_."

"Ezio, if I may…"

"Yes?"

"Someone warned Rodrigo to stay away from the _Castello_."

Ezio picked up on the allusion instantly. "Machiavelli?"

La Volpe spread his hands.

"Do you have proof?"

"...no."

Ezio jabbed a finger at the ground. "We must not be split apart by mere suspicion."

"Uh...excuse me?"

"Yes, Che Si?"

"You don't know who the traitor is?"

Both men looked at the caped man.

"Oh, well, it's not Machiavelli."

"Then who is it?" Ezio demanded.

"Some bald _cagna_ with an eyepatch. I thought you knew and was just using him for something else. It's why I haven't had the man captured and tortured."

…

Then a thief entered through the front door.

"The Borgia know the location of spies."

"Who told them?" Volpe asked.

"Maestro Machiavelli asked about our search for Pietro earlier today."

Volpe looked at the man in the white robe. "Ezio."

"It's the bald guy with the eyepatch."

"Okay, Che Si, we know."

"I am not lying."

"Enough! We need to rescue the Thieves in danger!"

Volpe nodded. "Va bene."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Thief, the Assassin, and the Prowler exited the inn, where they found themselves besieged by a battalion of Borgia soldiers, ones that were quickly defeated. After the last man fell, the three men mounted horses, and quickly rode off for the location of the spies. Arriving shortly, they found dead bodies, and a man desperately outrunning the Borgia.

The three horseback riders quickly dispatched the rabble.

La Volpe accosted the Thief. "What did you find out?"

"Pietro is to be assassinated this evening. Cesare sent his butcher."

Che Si Aggira's eyes widened beneath his hood. All three men were riding off once more, but the Prowler was now lost in thought. Deep thought. If Micheletto was here, then that meant Cesare also had to be here, and if Cesare was here…

Virgil's eyes blazed with Wrath.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the rest of the journey, Che Si was silent and unresponsive. He radiated a dark, cold aura. One that was ferocious like a storm, yet calm like the bottom of the ocean. Ezio and Volpe both noticed this change, and they noticed the more extreme change in the caped man's fighting. He dealt single, brutal, lethal blows, ones that displayed a greater level of physical strength than what either Assassin or Thief thought possible.

After rescuing the last of the spies, these ones in the middle of battle, the three convened in a nearby alley, away from the public eye.

"Are you sure it is not Machiavelli that had betrayed us?"

The Prowler did not take kindly to his word being questioned, and he lashed out with Wrath. His hand closed around Volpe's neck, and he yanked the man close, close enough to where his hot breath could be felt by the Thief.

"Yes, and if you question me again, the Thieves Guild will need a new leader."

Virgil threw Volpe away. The man stumbled, off-balance, and met the wall. He whirled around, temper flaring dangerously. Before further conflict could ensue, Ezio stepped in front of his friends.

"Enough, both of you! Volpe, tend to your thieves. Now!"

The Fox lingered a while longer, glaring at the Prowler, who returned the gaze with one of such iciness that it bordered on realms beyond human. Eventually, the Thief could not keep up the contest, and he left. With his absence, Ezio rounded on the Prowler.

" _Che cazzo ti sbaglia_?"

The reincarnation of Faris remained silent. He spun on his heel, his cape swishing behind him. "We have business to attend to."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On their way to the _Porta Praenestina_ , Ezio put his thoughts over Che Si Aggira's behavior over to the side, and instead decided to focus more on the task at hand. Since Micheletto was here, then Cesare was most likely here as well. _This_ would be the opportune moment to kill the man, if there wasn't the underlying issue of Pietro being somewhere in Roma, Micheletto knowing where Pietro was, and Micheletto seeking to kill Pietro via a play by disguising the would-be assassins as actors.

To summarize, Ezio needed Micheletto alive and well, and Cesare's time would come later.

There was also the Creed. Do not draw attention to yourself; do not compromise the Brotherhood; do not kill the innocent. The little things that separated Ezio from the animals. Charging at Cesare and Micheletto would defeat the purpose of those first two tenants, and would most likely get Ezio killed.

So that was why, when the Assassin heard the clicking of the Prowler's gun, and saw it being aimed at Cesare and his personal guard, he made haste to tackle his sister's lover to the ground. However, he was not fast enough to stop the shot from firing, but he did succeed in making the bullet miss anyone.

The sound was enough.

Cesare and his guards all flinched at the cracking of a rifle, at how close it was, and the Captain General was quick to issue commands.

"Micheletto, make haste! Men, with me! Hurry. Forget Troche."

And just like that, the Butcher was speeding away on horseback, and Cesare was gone. And Virgil Cavaliere was mad. And Ezio was thrown away as if he weighed no more than a child, which was quite a feat seeing as he was wearing armor, equipped with a sword, a knife, throwing knives, a crossbow, a quiver, several vials of medicine and poison, a trio of smoke bombs, a bagful of bullets, and an absurdly large number of parachutes. Combined with his physical mass, Ezio weighed about 300 pounds.

Virgil Cavaliere was mad.

"What was that!? I had him, right there! I could've ended this all, right there! Because of you, Troche is dead!"

"It is not the right time!" Ezio roared back. "Discretion, Che Si Aggira!"

"I have been discreet for the past ten years! And if this was not the right time, then when, Auditore? After Cesare kills another hundred senators? After he breaks another hundred families? After he destroys another hundred houses?! All of the lives that will be lost from here due to Cesare's hand, will be lost because of you!"

"And because of you," Ezio returned, "we've lost our chance to follow Micheletto, which means we don't know where the Borgia assassins are, where the Passion Play is, or where Pietro is!"

"Spare me, Ezio. The Play is at _il Colosseo_ and Pietro is playing _Gesù Cristo_. The posters were all over Roma."

"Then why are you—you are only here to kill Cesare."

"And because of you, that is no longer a possibility. It could've been over right here, Ezio. Kill Cesare, the Papal guards, save Troche, capture Micheletto and torture him for the information that we needed, kill him, save Pietro, get the key, and then put an end to Lucrezia, Rodrigo, and every other Borgia in the _Castello_."

Ezio turned his head, looking at Che Si out the corner of his eye. "Lucrezia?"

The Prowler inclined his head slightly, his hood casting an even darker shadow over his face.

"She is even worse than her brother and her father, and she has committed crimes and atrocities beyond either of them. She will die."

"You make it sound as if she has slighted you personally."

The reincarnation of Faris growled lowly, a sound that rumbled out from the very back of his throat. "I will get that key, Ezio, and I will end every single one of them."

"Every single...you're talking about mass murder! Men with families who do not need to die!"

The reincarnate Assassin was not moved. "All who are in league with the Borgia will die. Do not try to stop me, for you will fail." He threw a smoke bomb at his feet, causing Ezio to cough and cover his eyes at the sudden eruption of black. When it cleared, the caped man was unsurprisingly gone without a trace. Ezio felt a cold weight settle in his gut.

He could not let Che Si Aggira have the _Castello_ key, because he could not let Che Si Aggira commit so many murders.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _That night_

Using the power of the Sense, Ezio tracked Micheletto's golden apparition through Rome, and he found all of the Borgia men assigned for tonight's festivities, and had them all killed via his recruits, who then donned the Ancient Roman armor costumes. By the time Ezio arrived at _il Colosseo_ , it was night, and the play was in full swing.

Moving quickly, he ascended the walls of the great structure, and swiftly made his way through the ruins, taking out the various gunners along the way. After the snipers were dealt with, Ezio joined his recruits backstage, and donned his own costume.

When the time came, he entered the spotlight, and performed his role well. During this, Ezio kept a sharp eye on the crowd, scanning for the Prowler. He was not to be found. Finally, the time came for Micheletto's role to stab Pietro, and Ezio acted, saving the actor's life, and sparing the butcher's.

The play devolved from there, and Ezio quickly made haste for the nearest doctor, since Pietro had been poisoned earlier via wine. After undressing and redressing in his robes and armor (somehow), the Assassin acquired the key to the _Castello_ from Pietro…then Ezio saw a bald man with an eyepatch.

The alleged spy, and the man Ezio had seen at the Villa attack two years ago.

So he did the natural thing, and chased baldy's ass down.

The man proved to be quite fast, and only on horseback did Ezio manage to catch him, after maneuvering around groups of Borgia guards. Ezio caught the fleeing thief at the ruins directly across from the _Basilica di Massenzio_.

At the remains of the Ancient Roman forum.

"Why did you run?" Ezio snarled.

"I-"

The thief was brandishing a paper, one that Ezio snagged and read. His eyes alit with fury. "Che Si was right. _You_ are the traitor!" The Hidden Blade extended, and the traitorous thief saw an opportunity.

"Long live the Borgia!"

He stabbed himself in the throat.

Surprised, Ezio let the man fall off his Blade, gurgling blood as he collapsed. The Auditore stared at the corpse, wide-eyed. _That_ was something he had never expected to happen. Now, however, he felt strange, and it wasn't from the fact that a traitor had just committed suicide either. Now he had the key, the proof of Machiavelli's innocence that would to be shone to Volpe son, and nothing between him and the _Castello_ except…

"Turn. Around."

Steeling himself for what was about to be a brutal confrontation, Ezio obeyed Che Si Aggira's command. The Prowler had his gun in hand, the golden barrel pointed at Ezio's face. The Assassin was no fool; he had been caught completely unaware, and he could have been killed without even knowing that he had died, and the key taken from his corpse.

If Ezio had been anyone else, that's exactly what Che Si Aggira would have done.

"Give me the key, Ezio."

"No. You would use it as an excuse to kill dozens of people."

"Yes, I would. Dozens of people who kill and rape and torture with disgusting grins on their faces as they do it. I would be killing dozens of monsters to save thousands of innocents."

"That may be true, but I cannot allow you to do that. I cannot allow you to kill so many people, regardless if they're Borgia or otherwise."

"So you stand against me, then, and stand with the Borgia instead."

"I stand with myself, and that stance puts me against you and yet still against _our_ enemy."

"You will not give the key so that I may finally eradicate the whole of the Borgia, and I cannot convince you otherwise. It seems we have reached an impasse."

"So it seems."

Virgil threw his gun to the side, and drew his sword.

With a heavy heart, Ezio did the same. "I will do what I must."

"You will try."

Virgil struck first, going from a stand into a roll, popping up and slashing at Ezio's waist. The Assassin leapt back, and attempted his own attack, to which Virgil blocked. They exchanged blows, sparks flying and steel ringing. Then, finally, they deadlocked.

"I find it ironic that you would be against the murder of so many people when you have killed so many yourself."

" _Si_ , but I never went out of my way to kill someone. All that I have killed have either been targets or attackers."

The Prowler's muscles strained against his shirt, and he threw Ezio back with a grunt. The Assassin retained his balance, and was put on the defensive against the series of rabid jabs and thrusts at the hands of the Prowler of Roma. Ezio backpedaled as fast as Cavaliere advanced, parrying and avoiding stabs and feints with expert precision and skill.

Unfortunately, Ezio lost track of where he was on the battlefield, and tripped over a stone bench that crept up behind him. Moving quickly, he rolled to the side, avoiding the downward stab aimed at his head. Moving even quicker than that, the Assassin was on his feet, and stabbed at the Prowler.

The man angled his body with deft reflexes, making the hostile sword harmlessly sail past him, causing Ezio to overextend in a way. Now with this close proximity, Virgil pinned Ezio's arm between his own arm and his armpit, while Ezio did the same to Virgil's sword arm. They were face to face once again.

"Think of Claudia, Che Si! What would she say if she were here now!?"

"DO NOT BRING HER INTO THIS! What I do, I do to protect her! With the Borgia gone, there'll be nothing left to threaten her, or our relationship!"

"Every single Borgia that is on the payroll does not have to die for that to happen! Stop this now, before I am forced to do something that will break my sister's heart."

The Prowler roared, and with a mighty heave, he used his grip on Ezio to launch the man away. The Assassin grunted when he landed hard, his sword clattering from his hand. There was a small surge of panic at that little event, and when Ezio looked up, looking for his sword, he saw something else. In his desperation, he pitched himself forward, grabbed the object, and popped up in a crouch while also doing a 180-degree twist.

BA-CRACK

Virgil gasped when hot metal bit into his abdomen, and then he felt warm wetness spill down his clothes, soaking into his fabric. He felt…cold. The Prowler's sword fell from his hand as he fell to his knees. His hood came off, exposing his shocked visage to Ezio. This was the first time Ezio had seen Virgil's face.

"Che Si!"

The Assassin was there just as the caped man collapsed entirely. Ezio cradled the young man. He looked to be about 27, making the age gap between him and Claudia quite noticeable, but all of that was overshadowed by the Prowler's disturbing pallor.

" _Bastardo_. You shot me with my own gun."

He might have been calm, Ezio was freaking out. "J-Just stay calm. I'll take you to a doctor, he'll fix this!"

He received a flat look.

"What?"

Then Che Si's face contorted into one of pain. Ezio almost had a panic attack. Before he asked what was wrong, he looked down just in time to see the caped man's fingers digging into the wound, and then come out, trembling, covered in blood, and holding a small, smoking ball in between the digits.

The Prowler threw the bullet away, and beckoned Ezio closer.

"Y-Yes?"

Virgil gripped the Assassin's collar, and brought the hooded man's head closer, to where his (Virgil's) mouth was next to Ezio's ear.

" _You're really gullible_."

SCHUCK

Ezio grunted when what felt like an insect bit him in the side. He dropped Che Si Aggira in favor of bolting to his feet on reflex. His hand flew to his side, and he peeled out a small dart—no, not a dart, a small crossbow bolt. Before anymore pondering could be done, Ezio felt woozy, his head hurt, and he collapsed.

His last sight of consciousness was that of his sister's lover struggling to get to his feet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Okay, that had hurt. That had hurt a lot. Being shot was not pleasant, and digging out a bullet was even less pleasant. But, it all worked out in the end. Ezio was now neutralized, Che Si Aggira was putting his crossbow back under his cape, and the _Castello_ key was now his for the taking.

However, when he reached down for where Ezio had put the key, a wolf howled.

Not the bastardized howling of a Follower of Romulus, but the actual howl of a wolf, and it was a howl that Virgil Cavaliere recognized most strongly. But why was _she_ here? After so many years…

Slowly turning around, Virgil saw a wolf with a rust-colored pelt and silver eyes staring at him with a hard glare of disapproval and disappointment, standing not five feet away.

"Are you going to deny me my vengeance too?"

'…'

"But why!? You are the one that taught me what I know, taught me what I've used to raise an underground army, all for the sole purpose of defeating the Borgia!"

'…'

Virgil flinched as if struck.

'…'

"But, I-"

'…'

"No…"

'…'

Virgil looked at the unconscious Ezio, his expression pained. He struggled with himself, then he came to a decision. Virgil spun on his heel, his cape swishing behind him, a hand pressed tightly to his wound.

'…'

"Somewhere to think. Somewhere to find myself again."

The wolf watched her student disappear into the night. When he was gone, the wolf turned her attention to Ezio, and decided that she needed to do something.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia was sobbing into her brother's chest in the hideout on _Isola Tiberina_. Maria was there, along with Bartolomeo and Pantasilea, La Volpe, and Machiavelli. There were Assassins scattered about, all talking idly with each other.

Ezio had woken up inside the hideout, surrounded by his friends and family, and he had quickly recounted his night, which was why Claudia was crying, why the mood somber, and why conversation was quiet.

Then everything ended with a loud, steady knock at the front door.

Weapons were reached for, and tensions rose when the creaking of the door was heard, steady footsteps rang clear, and then the door was slammed shut. The footsteps continued to echo, and everyone's became more and more tense as the footsteps got closer to the main room.

Then, a leg was seen, then another, followed by a dress that looked to be made of fur. After that, the rest of the person became visible. It was a woman, a beautiful woman at that. She looked to be in her early twenties, with sharp, regal features, strange silver eyes, rust-colored hair—hair that was done up in fascinating style reminisce of wolf ears, while the rest of the impressive mane was left to cascade down to the floor—and she wore a dress made of pristine furs. The dress was like that of courtesan's, being that it was long, but left most of her legs revealed, and topless, revealing her shoulder, cleavage, and arms. The woman also wore a long, thick scarf, also made of fur, but she wore it across the small of her back, with the ends of the scarf resting across her bent arms.

As enraptured as the entire hideout was at the woman's beauty, they were not so stunned as to where they did not hear her speak.

"I am Lupa, the teacher of Virgil Cavaliere. I have come here to tell you the story of his past."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Che Si's Aggira's real name: Virgil because it sounds cool, and Cavaliere because it's Italian for 'Horseman.'**_

 _ **Strife this chapter, with the darker side of Virgil being revealed in that he desires to commit genocide against the Borgia and all of their allies, and the death of the Baron de Valois.**_

 _ **Two opposing philosophies, with Ezio and Virgil going head to head. I hope the dialogue and the fight scene was believable, because I sure felt that it was.**_

 _ **So, just what exactly happened to Virgil to where he would strive for so much blood? Just what is the full history between him and the Borgia? How does it tie into the Followers of Romulus?**_

 _ **Next time, on**_ Assassin's Creed: Transcendence

The Second Life: Origins

 _ **Fav, Follow and Review!**_


	16. The Second Life: Origins

_The Second Life: Origins_

 _ **First off, I would like to say congratulations and thank you to all those that have reviewed, because we've made it to 300!**_

 _ **Second off, I want everyone to know that there are only two chapters left before I return to my other stories. This, and the next, which will also be the final chapter of the Second Life arc.**_

 _ **Now then, since I've got that squared away, on to the origins of the Prowler of Roma!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1476_

 _June 1_

 _Roma_

Senator Virile Cavaliere was a tall man, a powerfully built man, a man that had served in the armies of Rome, and knew the blood of his enemies. He was a man skilled at politics and battle, well-versed in the Word, and a man of family, principle, and honor.

He was also about to be a father.

Virile practically stormed down the halls of his villa to the birthing room, to where he could hear the cries of his wife, Aquila Cavaliere. It might have seemed that the man was storming, but in reality, that was his usual gait. No, if he truly was 'storming,' all of Heaven and Earth would know about it.

Virile had almost killed his horse due to the pace he had it running to get over here, though.

The Senator calmly opened the door to where his wife lay, surrounded by nurses and cloth, and buckets. Aquila Cavaliere was the exact opposite of her husband, in that she was small, frail, had come up in a simple family of clothes-makers. Her black hair was wavy, her eyes warm, sparkling, and her face soft and beautiful…on any given day.

Right now she looked like hammered shit, but childbirth did that to a woman.

Virile was at his wife's side in an instant, tightly gripping her hand, boring into her soul with his eyes, pouring strength into her. Aquila took several breathes, almost calming back down from her earlier trials. Her husband's eyes hardened, and his grip tightened even harder than what it had been; Aquila nodded.

Her face screwed up in effort, then, with a scream that could've scared away an army, she pushed, and she pushed, and she pushed more still. The nurse at the foot of the bed, the one prying apart Aquila's cervix to allow for birthing, announced, "I can see the head!"

Aquila sucked in through her teeth, then pushed once more.

Crying filled the air.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1480_

 _July 6_

 _Roma_

Virile found his son sitting on the balls of his feet, his arms wrapped around his knees, lower face hidden by his legs, a Bible in hands, in front of the room in which Aquila was giving birth in…again. The four-year-old's sharp eyes flickered to Virile upon the sound of his footsteps being heard.

" _Padre_ …why does _Madre_ scream so?"

As if rehearsed, Aquila screamed from inside the room, and Virgil Cavaliere winced, fear and distress flashing in his innocent little eyes. Virile sat next to his son, placing a large hand on that small head. "Do not worry for your mother, Son. She screams because Eve screamed, as do all women at this time."

"Will she…will she be alright?"

" _Si_. Your mother is strong, and God stands with her in this, as do I. Soon you will have a younger sibling to look after."

Virgil looked down, deep in thought, then his eyes brightened like that of twin stars. "I hope it's a girl!" he chirped.

Virile blinked. "Why do you hope for a girl?"

"Because I want a sister," was the simple response.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1484_

 _August 13_

 _Roma_

Virgil got his sister, an adorable little tot named Anita.

Currently, we find the siblings and their mother in the Roman countryside, their father hard at work elsewhere. Aquila watched her children like a hawk as they played about, dancing and twirling and giggling and laughing and behaving as young children should. Aquila smiled softly, thanking God for blessing her with such beautiful children, and blessing her for children that behaved and loved one another and were not spoiled and selfish like other children of their status.

Virile often told his wife stories of the Borgias Cesare and Lucrezia, although perhaps their unruliness could be blamed on their father. That train of thought led Aquila to be thank god for a husband like the one she had. The proud mother was broken from her prayers when the shrieks of children changed from shrieks of merriment to shrieks of panic.

A black dog stood before Virgil and Anita, hackles raised and lips pulled back.

Aquila bolted from her sitting position among the wildflowers, and sprinted as fast as she could in her dress. "Children, run to me!"

Anita obeyed, and desperately tried to tug her big brother along, but Virgil remained steadfast, staring the black dog down. Aquila felt unrestricted panic surge through her, and she desperately tried to run faster, but she only ended up tripping on her dress. Face down, she heard a bestial sound and the screaming of her daughter…but nothing from her son.

Icy cold settle in Aquila's veins, but when she looked up, she saw not the black dog tearing into her son, but her son with his little arms wrapped tightly around the dog's neck…strangling it. Above, the clouds had come together, blocking most of the sun's light, except for a few patches. One of those patches shined down directly on Virgil and the dog.

The black beast kicked and snarled, biting and pawing at air as the grip on its neck prevented from gaining any leverage or ability to alter itself. It writhed and threw itself about, but Virgil's grip was unrelenting. After a time, the dog became still, and then it became limp.

Virgil dropped the beast, and Aquila was at her children's sides, scooping both of them up. Anita was sobbing into her mother's shoulder, and Virgil was…Virgil was a lot calmer.

"Mother…I smell like a dog!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Later that night_

One would think that the family of a senator of Rome, especially in these increasingly turbulent times of corruption, assassination, bribery, blackmail, and illegal actions, would have guards with them at all times. Twas not the case for the Cavalieres. In fact, not only had there not been any guards around, but not any people either, so Virile only discovered his family's ordeals after he arrived home from work.

He sat with his son on the veranda, watching the sunset.

"How do you feel, Son?"

"I feel fine."

"Even though you killed one of God's creatures today?"

"Father?"

Virile continued to stare into the sun. "An agent of Satan though it may have been, it was still a creation brought forth by the hand of the Lord, and you killed it."

"Are you saying that I am a murderer, Father?"

" _Si_."

Virgil looked at Virile, his dark eyes unnaturally sharp for a child. "Have you not also killed people, Father?"

The senator slowly turned to look at his offspring, his own eyes cold and merciless. "Do not forget who you speak to, _ragazzo_."

Virgil looked back at the sun. "I speak to my father, who never answered my question." It was spoken neutrally, with Virgil fully aware of what he was doing, and of just how thin the ice he treaded upon truly was.

Virile, sensing this, also turned to look back at the sun, the flames of his temporary anger now quelled. "I have killed many people, my son, and the taking of life is not a practice to be proud of, _mai_."

"Then why do it?"

"There are things in this world that are worth fighting for, Virgil, and there are things worth killing for, as well. Those that I have slain threatened my family in a way, and that is not something that I will allow."

"So then…it is okay to kill those that threaten your family?"

"No, it is not. The Lord forbids the killing of your fellow man, for any purpose."

Virgil was confused.

"However," Virile said, and his eyes burned with passion, "we are mere men, my son, and we sin every day. To kill is but one more sin, and to kill for the purpose of protecting my family is a sin that I will not repent for. So I ask you again: _come ti senti?_ "

Virgil was startled by his father's sudden forceful tone, but that did not derail his answer. "I feel that I am in the right for what I did, and that the Lord stood with me."

"Do you regret your actions?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because the dog wanted to harm Anita, and I could not let that happen."

"Why?"

"Because she is my sister."

"So you killed the dog to protect your family?"

" _Si_."

"Are you willing to kill again to protect your family?"

"I am."

Virile smiled. " _Bene. Molto bene_. You have made me proud this day, Son." The powerful man spread his arm wide, and Virgil was at his father's side instantly, and Virile brought his arm back down, tightly embracing his son.

"Do not ever forget the reason you fight, my child, and do not ever kill for a purpose other than family."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1490_

 _February 10_

 _Roma_

"Virgil, come help me please!" Aquila called from the other room.

The fourteen-year-old marked his place in his Bible, closed the book, and made his way to where his mother was. Upon entering her room, he raised a brow. "Sewing?"

"Si, and do not give me lip on how this is a woman's job. Sewing is a skill all should have, regardless of what's between their legs. That way any rips and tears in one's clothes can be taken care of without having to pay someone. Now sit."

Virgil wasn't even thinking of giving 'any lip,' he was just merely pointing out what he saw.

On that day, Virgil Cavaliere learned how to make his own clothes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The next day_

"Virgil! Virgil!" Anita practically screamed as she came running around the corner.

In the bustling streets of Rome, a little girl's cries went unheard by all except for those that listened. Virgil was listening, even though he and his sister were only supposed to be in the city for more cloth for their mother. When the cries of Anita reached him as soon as they were uttered, he bolted around, and was less than pleased to see a group of older boys, boys older than he, chasing her.

Anita scrambled behind Virgil's legs, and the group of older teens rumbled to a halt before Virgil.

"And just why are you chasing my sister?"

"Because, _Cavaliere_ , she insulted Cardinal Borgia," sneered the biggest thug, a massive specimen of fat and roles. It was amazing he had the stamina required to keep up with Anita.

Virgil was unimpressed. "And?"

"And she needs to pay for it!"

"And how do you expect she pays for her insult?"

"By apologizing!"

"Oh, if that's all. Anita?"

The girl peeked from behind Virgil's back. " _Mi dispiace_."

Virgil nodded. "There, now you have your apology, and we can all depart from here in peace. Good day, gentlemen. Come, Anita."

The son of Virile turned his back on the bullies, his hand firmly on his sister's back as he led her away. He didn't believe for a second that the filth behind him were done, and was hardly surprised to hear the fat one snarl.

"Not so fast, Cavaliere. I think you owe us an apology too." The fat one was ignored, and that made him mad. "Hey, Cavaliere! I'm talking to you-ah!"

The fat one attempted to grab Virgil by the shoulder and spin him around, only for his meaty hand to be grabbed, and suddenly his vision went inverted as all air left his lungs when his back roughly kissed the stone road. His last sight in the land of consciousness was of Virgil's raised fist, and his cold, merciless dark eyes.

The other thugs all gaped, before one of them shouted, "Get him!" and they all rushed as one.

"Anita, close your eyes."

The little girl did that…but being the mischievous brat she was at heart, she peeked through her fingers, only to squeak in surprise at seeing her big brother not an inch away from her face.

"I said close your eyes!"

Comically flinching, this time Anita _did_ close her eyes, and this time she kept them shut. However, she didn't need the glory of vision to know what was going on, for the sounds of flesh on flesh were more than enough for the little girl to know that her big brother was _calciando il culo_.

The sounds of fighting stopped. "Let's go, Anita."

She splayed her fingers, and cracked her eyes open. She saw a pile of groaning bodies, and the knuckles of her brother were bleeding. "Virgil, your hands…"

"Will be fine. Now, come little sister. Mother is waiting."

Anita took her brother's hand, and the two departed from the streets of Rome in silence, both ignoring the crowd that watched them. The same crowd that eventually dispersed into a mindless mass of sheep that would gossip among themselves. Upon reaching the countryside of Rome, becoming closer to their small villa, Virgil asked his sister a question.

"What exactly did you say to them?"

"Oh, um…"

The child fiddled with her clothes, staring at the ground with an embarrassed expression.

"Anita…" Virgil warned.

"Um, I heard it from Father when he described the Borgia man…"

"Uh-oh. Anita, what did you say?"

"I called Borgia a _"

"Excuse me?"

Anita fidgeted, and her expression was one of absolute childish cuteness, with her flustered mannerisms, her blushing face, and her big, innocent eyes.

"I called him a _pezzo di merde_ …"

…

Virgil stared at his sister, making her fidget in place, then he began cracking up, and then snickering, and then full-blown laughing. Anita found herself stunned at her big brother's behavior, but soon found his laughter to be infectious, and she was giggling soon enough.

Virgil calmed himself back down, and he rubbed his little sister's head with an affection that could only be matched by an elder brother. "You are not wrong, _sorellina_ , but do not ever say that again, okay?"

" _Si_ , Brother…what does _pezzo di merde_ mean?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Later that night_

Virile arrived home, and he immediately called his son to his side. However, the senator had to work later than usual, and instead of staring into the sunset, they were treated to the sight of the full moon.

"I know what has happened this afternoon, Son."

"I will not apologize."

"As you should not!" Virile rounded on his son. "What you did today was a great thing. You stood against a mounting tide; a feat few men can claim to have done. You defended your sister against multiple threats, and for that I am proud and grateful."

The Cavaliere patriarch smiled at his son, before turning a wistful gaze towards the moon.

"I fear there will come a day when a man will not be able to defend his principle and belief without fear of reprimand from the law. If that day comes, mankind will know what true weakness is. I can only pray that your grandchildren are dust by then."

"Father?"

"Ah, apologies, my son. I do not mean to burden you with the philosophies of an old man. Come, it is time for _cena_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1493_

 _August 15_

 _Roma_

Virgil was seventeen years old now. He was a tall young man, most likely 5'10 in height, 6'1 in boots. He was well-built due to years of combat training with his father, running across the rooftops of Rome, and helping farmers around the countryside do their chores. Anita was now a young girl of thirteen, had started becoming a woman almost three months ago, and was already an object of desire in the hearts of many men, however none of them were dumb enough to try anything against Virgil Cavaliere; news of what he did to those boys three years ago, still resonated to the present day, and Virile was not at all willing to marry off his daughter for any reason, and people were even more afraid of that man than his son.

In other news, Rodrigo Borgia had been elected Pope Alexander VI over a year ago, through less than scrupulous means, and Rome was steadily declining into what could be considered a dictatorship due to the machinations of those that walk within the shadows. Anita did not know it, but Virile had received death threats for not buying into the growing Borgia regime.

But the growing political strife was not what was on Virgil's mind right now; it was his date tonight.

Emiliana Santi was a beautiful young woman of 17, with blonde hair, bright, blue eyes, a slender build, soft features, and more womanly ability than what should have been available for one of common birth. Virgil liked to think that this woman was living proof that blood did not dictate your lot in life.

The two had been together for almost a year now.

They were on horseback in the city, touring the streets, with Virgil telling Emiliana all that he knew about this place and that. The night was warm, the air smelled like bread, lanterns lit the streets, and the night was alive with groups gossiping in the corners, groups moving about. Perhaps the biggest blemish on the night was the number of Borgia militia patrolling about.

"Virgil," Emiliana said. The tone of her voice was one of slight distress, and it immediately caught Virgil's attention. "Those guards...they're staring at us."

Turning his head slightly, Virgil saw that there were indeed guards staring at them. They were disgusting, with unkempt beards littered with food stuffs, beady eyes, yellow teeth, and Virgil was pretty sure he could smell them from where he was. Seeing that they had been found out, the Borgia's finest moved out, heading towards the young couple.

On the rooftops, more Borgia drew crossbows.

"I'm sorry, Emiliana. Being with me seems to have become a hazard to your health."

"At least my life is never boring."

" _Vero_."

Virgil snapped the reigns, the horse was off, and the Borgia archers had the accuracy of blind men.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1493_

 _August 18_

 _Roma_

Virgil was out and about by himself, with his father, mother, and little sister at home. Virgil was running errands today, delivering letters and such for his father. What these letters contained was irrelevant, who they were delivered to was irrelevant, and where they were delivered to was also irrelevant.

Virgil was halfway done with his deliveries when he caught the attention of the viper.

At thirteen years old, Lucrezia Borgia was already a married woman, married to Giovanni Sforza, and had long since lost her virginity and her innocence. She had lied, she had killed, and she had tortured. She was well-versed in the arts of seduction, able to draw grown men into the bed, and slit their throats after she was done with them. Lucrezia was a product of the shadows, a poor, twisted soul tainted by her father and so much more.

She might've been deserving of sympathy…if she hadn't been one to revel in her status.

Perhaps her sanity had been stripped from her at a younger age than what she remembered, or perhaps she never had any sanity in the first place. Regardless, Lucrezia absolutely adored her power, the way she could twist men around her fingers, the ability she had to dole out orders and stand there as people scrambled to please her. And if they failed to meet her standards, she could have them killed.

One time, when a few servants had started to show a little backbone against the Borgia tide, Lucrezia decided to have a little fun. She gathered these servants, near the horse stables, at a time in which her latest meal was completing the final stages of the digestive process. After she had done her business, Lucrezia ordered one of the servants to…clean her up. Predictably, the man refused, and that was where the lesson was learned.

A host of guards stormed in, leading a horse with them. They tied the rebellious servant up, a boy that couldn't have been more than just a few years older than Lucrezia, and yet was built just the same. Then they let the horse have his its way with the boy, forcing the servants to watch. After the horse was done, and the boy was little more than a barely-alive mess, another guard brought in a large bucket filled a sickly green mush that absolutely reeked.

Manure.

The boy's head was forced into the slop, and kept there until his frantic flailing came to an end. The servants were forced to watch that as well. After the body, the bucket, and the horse were taken elsewhere, Lucrezia asked which of the servants wanted to clean her up. They all clambered over to her, almost fighting one another, in a hasty effort to clean the Borgia girl's asshole.

Afterwards, the servants were released back into the Borgia's service, humiliated and subdued for the rest of their tenure…which was a few scant days because Cesare found out that they had all put their tongues upon his sister's extremities, and had them all murdered.

Via suffocation in piles of horse shit.

However, there were times when Lucrezia hated her life. Like when she had to be married to someone for no other purpose than politics. Or when her father brought her to the bedroom. Or when she had to sleep with anyone other than her beloved brother. Or like right now, when she had to seduce a teenager, and he wasn't falling for her advances.

Virgil stared down at the viper before him with disgust and distaste. He didn't even tilt his head to look down upon it, and just used his eyes to bear into the viper's poisoned soul. He knew who this viper was, and knew why it was here, and he had no tolerance for it.

Without a sound, he brushed past the viper, causing it to hiss.

"You're making a mistake, Cavaliere. When I tell my father of your insolence, he'll-"

Virgil whipped around, his dark eyes cold and merciless. The viper became quiet.

"I pray for you and your family, I truly do, but if you do anything against me and mine…only God will save you. Now, _inizio, vipera_."

Lucrezia whimpered, before sprinting off in the direction opposite of Virgil Cavaliere.

The son of Virile watched her go with a dark expression. That child was danger, and his words may very well have brought indirect harm to his family, but then again. Father was home, and Father was not so out of shape and away from his prime that he could not handle such things like henchmen. Besides, Virile was a senator, a well-respected one at that, and the Borgia were not so dumb as to openly attack a senator, no matter their influence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucrezia nearly ripped the door off the carriage her brother was in, and she buried her face in his chest, sobbing her twisted little heart out. Cesare whispered quietly to her, soothing her by calmly stroking her hair. When Lucrezia calmed herself, he asked, "I trust that Cavaliere will not be bending to us?"

"N-No...Cesare, he-"

"Shhhhh, _mia amor_ ," the young cardinal said. "He will not be a problem anymore." Cesare looked out the carriage's window, looked out at the hiding man in the clothes of the wolf, and nodded at him. The wolfman disappeared.

"H-He won't?"

"No, Lucrezia, no. But enough of the Cavaliere...let us turn our attention to a more...productive activity."

"Oh, Cesare…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Night_

"I am worried about, Virgil. He is not back yet."

"Do not worry about him, Aquila. He is well-trained, and the Borgia are not yet so bold as to openly attack us in public. Virgil is fine."

Anita kept quiet, but she too was worried for her brother.

Then the distant howl of a wolf was heard.

The family of three all stopped what they were doing as a feeling of strong unease enveloped all of them. They had heard the howling of wolves before, and this one sounded...off. Then Virile's eyes widened. He could not expect his wife to know, much less his young daughter, but he knew that sound.

"Aquila, take Anita to the passage, now!"

The girl immediately yelled in distress when her mother scooped her up, and her father stormed elsewhere. Aquila bolted through the halls of her home, not knowing what was coming, but knowing that it was bad if it had Virile like this.

Putting Anita down, Aquila threw aside the dresser, then tossed away the carpet, revealing the metal handle on top of the wooden plank. Gripping it and ripping it up, mother and daughter screamed as werewolves leapt at them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In an extreme case of old man strength, Virile hefted his bastard sword with one arm, and charged out of his house. He was not surprised to see a host of the Followers of Romulus, the accursed cult that worshipped a fictional figure like a god. There was only one god.

"Come then, _tu vagabondi_!"

A Follower barked like the animal he imitated, and he charged. Virile swung his sword, and he split the animal in half. More charged, each one by itself, and Virile cleaved them apart left and right without showing any signs of fatigue. Soon, the grass was stained red and the cult's forces were cut down to less than half of what they were originally.

With a roar of a lion, Virile charged, sword raised and bloody. Then he heard the screams of his wife and child. He paused, panic surging through him, and it was just enough for a dog to stab him. Virile roared once more, and bisected the Follower at the sternum. However, that single knife was just enough to weaken Virile.

The wolves descended.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Virgil had a small smile on his face as he made his way home. He had delivered the letters some time ago, but he had made a quick detour to see his girlfriend. They had done nothing sexual, as both were followers of the Lord, but the time they spent together was nice.

Virgil's good mood was quickly ended when he smelled...burning. Looking to the horizon, he saw glowing orange and dancing red. His heart leapt into his throat, and he took off at a speed that could've had horses struggling to catch up. Virgil thundered up the hill, and when he eclipsed the top, he froze in horror.

His house was on fire. His father had been dismembered, with his limbs and strips of flesh strewn about the grass, along with the corpses of men in wolf's clothing. His mother had been nailed to the door, pages of the Bible jammed tight into her eyes and mouth, all soaked with blood. And his sister…

Virgil rushed to her side, as Anita had been propped against the stone wall in front of the porch. She was naked, bleeding, and alive. Cradling her close, Virgil saw that the fangs of wolves had been stabbed into her sex.

"Vir...gil?"

"I'm here, Anita." The Cavaliere managed to keep the tremble out of his voice.

"It hurts, Virgil…"

He stayed silent, tears building in his eyes.

"Where are Momma and Papa?"

"They're close, sister. They're close."

"Are they...are they...dead?"

"...yes."

"O-Oh...I think I can see them, Brother. They're smiling at me, telling me to come closer."

"No!" Virgil screamed. "No, don't go to them, Anita! Stay here, please."

"I have to, Brother...it's bright and warm…"

"No, Anita, don't go!"

Anita's lids drifted ever closer to her body. "I want to go, Virgil...I want to go...I like it there...I love...you…"

Anita's eyes closed for the last time.

Virgil's heart stopped for a moment, his eyes widening. Warmth spilled down his cheeks, but he did not feel it. He stared at the red body of his sister, and he did not hear when the wooden door gave way, and his mother fell into the fire. In vain, Virgil gently shook Anita's body.

"Anita, Anita, c-come now little s-sister."

Virgil's body trembled as sobs began to escape him, sobs that he hid by burying his face into his sister's body.

The last Cavaliere looked up, his face covered in blood. His sobs turned into snarls, his trembling into guttural heaving. His gaze zeroed in on the cliff above, where one Cesare Borgia sat upon a horse, Lucrezia behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. Virgil stared at them, his face bloody, his eyes reflecting the fire that burned his house. From down below, the Cavaliere saw Cesare gulp and Lucrezia hide her face in her brother's back.

The Borgia quickly fled the area.

Virgil heard grunting and growling behind him, and slowly turned around to see many men in the pelts of wolves. Virgil gently set his sister down, and stood up, and then faced the Followers of Romulus. He uttered five words.

"There will be no survivors."

The Followers of Romulus charged, but a blur streaked past all of them, and more red painted the night. The blur came back, and solidified itself into the shape of a woman wearing a dress of pristine fur, with hair that reached the ground, and silver eyes.

"Come with me. More will be here soon."

"Who are you?"

"I am Lupa, the goddess of this city, mother of Romulus and Remus."

Instead of refuting this being's claim, Virgil glanced at the carnage behind her, and asked, "What do you want from me?"

"Your help in purging the Borgia from Rome."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1495_

 _July 1_

 _Roma_

"Why have you not done these things yourself?"

"I am restricted by certain rules and laws, made at the beginning of time by those more powerful than I. I cannot directly interfere with the happenings of the mortals, but I can influence events through others, like I am doing with you."

"I see. If you are real, then are the other ancient pagans of Rome real as well?"

"Once, yes. But as mortals stripped the gods of their prayers, turning to Jesus instead, the old gods lost their power, and faded into the Void."

"Then why have you remained?"

"My life force is directly tied to this city, directly tied the idea of Rome itself. I do not draw power from prayer as the old gods did, but from the city itself. As long as Rome stands, I will continue to exist."

Virgil fell silent, before asking, "What happens now?"

"Now? Now you are on your own. I have trained you in all that I can, and you have already proven yourself worthy. You have completed all tasks I assigned you, and now you have no need of me. Your path is now your own, your actions your own, and your plans your own. Go forth, Che Si Aggira, and bring about an end to the Borgia, by any means necessary."

The hooded man nodded once, and he stormed forward out of the cave, his cape, sewn by his own hands, fluttering behind him. He took a quick glance behind him, and was unsurprised to see the cave entrance was gone, as was Lupa. The Prowler stared frontwards, drinking in the sight of the whole of Rome and the rising sun.

He was not foolish enough to believe that he could do this by himself. He needed allies, compatriots, those willing to stand against the tide. He needed an army, one large enough to be feared, yet small enough to hide underground.

So that's what the reincarnation of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad set out to do: raise an army.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1503_

 _August 18_

 _Isola Tiberina_

"That is the story of Virgil Cavaliere," Lupa said. "His family stood against the Borgia and lost their lives in the process, all at the hands of the Followers of Romulus, that disgusting cult that drags my son's name into the mud, and his lover was killed shortly after his family. After that, he made allies out of you two and the past mistress of the Rosa in Fiore, and raised an army that lines the streets of Rome.

"Now that you know this, I take my leave." Lupa turned around, her dress and hair swishing behind her, but Ezio stopped her.

"Wait, I have a question?"

Lupa cocked a brow. "Just one?"

"Well, many, but only one that is pertinent."

"Then ask, and if I should desire to answer, I will."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to tend to my student, and make sure he is set on the right path once more, and that he does not abandon Claudia. I like them, they make a good couple."

Ezio blinked. "Uh... _grazie_."

Lupa simply nodded, and almost made it to the stairs before Machiavelli spoke.

" _Madonna_ Lupa, if I may…"

"Yes?"

"Will you ever present yourself to us again?"

"Look to see me no more."

With that, the goddess disappeared up the stairs and out of sight. No heard the door open and then close, and no one heard her footsteps against the stone. One curious woman walked forward and looked up, only to see no one there.

Trippy.

"What do we do now?" Claudia asked, her eyes red.

Ezio kneeled down in front of her, and took her hands in his own. "Do not worry, sister. The goddess will handle Virgil, and if he still refuses to see reason, I will drag his _culo_ here to you."

Claudia cracked a grin, and wiped her eyes. "Thank you, Brother."

Ezio nodded. Then he stood, and everyone that was standing became a little straighter as they registered the Master's aura.

"Everyone, the time of the Borgia has come. The Banker is dead, the Baron is dead, and Pietro's key is in our possession. Cesare returns to Roma tomorrow, which means I will be there as well. Brothers, sisters, I will need your help in this. Are you with me?"

The halls of _Isola Tiberina_ resonated with the shouts of over 50 Assassins.

Ezio nodded. " _Bene_. Now all of you get some rest. This war ends tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Okay, that was longer than expected, and it took a lot longer than it should have. I'm sorry.**_

 _ **Now, etymology. Virile means 'manly' in Italian. Aquila is coming straight from**_ **ACIII** _ **, and Anita just sounded appropriate. Emiliana Santi is one of**_ **Brotherhood's** _ **autogenerated Assassin Recruit names.**_

 _ **So, this was the darkest chapter in this story so far, with incest, torture, murder, death by feces, underage, graphic depiction of death, and what basically amounts to rape via wolf teeth. However, I believe this chapter answers the questions of why Che Si hates the Followers of Romulus and the Borgia so much.**_

 _ **Next chapter will be the concluding one of the Second Life arc, and the official shelving of this story. Do not complain; I've spent months on this one already, and we've hit 300+ reviews. My other fics need attention too.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	17. The Second Life: Prowler's End

_The Second Life: Prowler's End_

 _ **Alright, this is it, the last chapter of the Second Life arc, and the last chapter of this fic for a long time, so let's send her off with a grand farewell!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1503_

 _Rome_

"Are you going to deny me my vengeance too?"

' _Yes.'_

"But why!? You are the one that taught me what I know, taught me what I've used to raise an underground army, all for the sole purpose of defeating the Borgia!"

' _And you've disgraced your family in doing so.'_

Virgil flinched as if struck.

' _In your crusade, you've lost sight of the teachings of your father.'_

"But, I…"

' _You know this to be true, Virgil.'_

"No…"

' _Search yourself, reflect upon your actions, and compare them to what your father taught you so many years ago.'_

Virgil looked at the unconscious Ezio, his expression pained. He struggled with himself, then he came to a decision. Virgil spun on his heel, his cape swishing behind him, a hand pressed tightly to his wound.

' _Where are you going?'_

"Somewhere to think. Somewhere to find myself again."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Virgil found this place in the ruins of his home in the countryside, up on a hill, beneath the cliff, and overlooking the city. The house itself no longer stood, with only a few sections of wall still standing. The stone wall surrounding the house was still there. All of it was once scorched black from the fire, but rain and time and scrubbed away the black. Nature had taken over the property, with weeds and grasses and flowers growing over everything.

Virgil had been here only once in ten years, and that was to fit what was left of his loved ones into boxes, and burry them in the earth. Behind the property were four crosses that marked the final resting places of Virile Cavaliere, Aquila Cavaliere, Anita Cavaliere, and Emiliana Santi.

The sun was beginning to rise at this point.

Virgil eased himself into a sitting position, and leaned against the stone wall behind him, staring at the crosses. His wound had healed a while ago, his body was strange like that, but the blood had dried on his clothes, making the fabric crusty. He would have to wash that out later in the river.

Virgil closed his eyes, and thought back to the conversations between him and his father.

So many years ago, after he had killed the black dog, Virile had said that killing was a sin, even if it was for a purpose such as protecting others, which then led to Virile saying that it was necessary to kill for the purpose of protecting, especially for those of blood. Well, by that philosophy, Virgil had been killing for no reason at all, since all of his family was dead.

Virgil hadn't been killing for family, technically speaking. He had killed for them, not in protection, but in vengeance. Was that his folly, then? Fighting and killing in the name of revenge? Virile had firmly believed that killing anything was a sin, as all were children of God, yet he also firmly believed that to kill in the name of protecting one's family was a righteous thing to do, and, as Virgil had no family, did that make him in the wrong?

Or was he in the right for killing to protect the memory of his family, and killing so that no other family would know his pain? The pain of loss, suffering, and of the emptiness that came with the death of family. Was that his righteous cause, then? An avenger in the name of Rome, hiding in the shadows with an army that steadily chipped away at the forces of the Borgia.

And yet, as Virgil struggled to rationalize himself, the words of his father continued to ring in his ears.

Do not ever kill for a purpose other than family.

Going by that, then Virgil could say that all of Rome was his family, or that those in his army were his family, or that his allies in the Mercenaries, Courtesans, Thieves, and Assassins were his family, but that would all be a lie. Those that walked the streets of Rome were strangers, those in his army were merely assets to be used, those in the various guilds were keen allies, yes, but nothing more. Ezio, Volpe, and Bartolomeo were friends, yes, but not family.

Even Claudia, the woman Virgil had not felt such passion for since Emiliana, was not family.

But couldn't she be?

Virgil already had a ring, one that was meant for Emiliana, but she didn't need it, since she was dead, and Virgil fully intended on proposing after the Borgia were eradicated. Oh God...there was no telling what Claudia thought of him now, what with his battle with Ezio, and then there was whatever Lupa had told the Assassins, if anything, and whatever Ezio had told Claudia himself.

The Auditore did not seem like the type to lie for any reason, even to family, but there was always the possibility that he had withheld certain information from Claudia, in the sake of preserving the relationship between her and Virgil. There was also Maria Auditore, and what she knew of the situation, either from Ezio or otherwise.

Bottom line, the next meeting between Virgil and Claudia would definitely be memorable.

Virgil's gaze returned to the four crosses, and his thoughts drifted back to the argument of killing.

The Prowler would not lie to himself and say that his motives behind taking the life of the dog and taking the life of so many other people were the same. The dog had been strangled to protect Anita, and the people had been killed in the name of revenge. Vengeance.

Virgil recalled a verse from the Bible that touched on the subject of vengeance.

" _Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: 'It is mine to avenge; I will repay,' says the Lord."_

Perhaps it was ironic that verse came from the book of Romans, but anyway.

That verse and more could all be summed up with 'do not seek vengeance, God will take care of it.' If that was the case, then did that mean Virgil was acting for God, or was God acting through Virgil? Or was it something else entirely? Was Virgil acting on his own, outside of God's will, or were his actions still guided by God regardless?

On that thought basis, was it even possible to act outside of God's will?

Virgil decided that the answer to that was based on whether you believed or not.

Still though, what a question that was. The Bible said that vengeance was the Lord's, yet Virgil had been the one doing the killing. So, did that mean that he was acting for God, or was God acting through him? As he pondered heavily on this, Virgil found his head beginning to hurt.

So he switched gears.

Was Ezio correct in saying that not all the Borgia needed to be killed, and only the higher-ups, or was Virgil right in saying that _all_ Borgia needed to be eradicated? On that note, was it even _possible_ to kill _all_ Borgia personnel? Truth be told, that was a lot of people, and Virgil wasn't sure even his underground army was capable of finding so many people.

But on the other hand, was killing only the main Borgia the answer? If history had shone anything, then it was that even the lowest of lifeforms could rise to the top. So, what was stopping the janitor from becoming the next Templar Grand Master? Then again, the amount of skillful planning, political maneuvering, and backstabbing such a ladder-climb requires is nothing short of monumental, and there was a great shortage of men like that in the world…

And the janitor would happen to be _just_ that man, because the universe sucked like that.

Alright…Virgil would reach a middle ground with Ezio and say that not _all_ the Borgia needed to die, but the grand majority would need to be found and executed, and those that slipped through would need to be located and watched.

Back to the other argument, though…was it pretentious of Virgil to say that he was doing the will of God on earth? Perhaps, but was it the truth? How, exactly, did one answer such questions like that, ones that dealt with God and his purpose for you on this earth? How did you know that _this_ was what God wanted you to do? How did you know that _this_ was a message from God? Were those kinds of answers even available on this earth?

No, Virgil answered to himself. No, those answers were not to be found _here_. No Father, no holy man, no creature of God had those answers. Only one creation of God had the answers Virgil sought, and that man had died and come back three days later. Prayer was another thing, but then that tied back to Virgil's original dilemma.

How did one know that _this_ was God's answer?

The sun was higher now, and Rome was beginning to get warmer.

Virgil continued to ponder his dilemma, and he continued to war back and forth between himself over the points he had made, the arguments he had built up, and the merits behind each facet of his individual arguments. As each minute passed, Virgil's head started to hammer against his skull again, due to the rate at which he was burning through his brain cells arguing with himself.

Huh, he was arguing with himself.

He could host his own conversations.

Did that make him insane?

' _Are you okay, my student?'_

Virgil panned his head to his left, and there, sitting atop the cliff, was a certain wolf. "Lupa."

Lupa descended from her vantage point as if she were on invisible stairs, if the movement of her paws indicated anything. The she-wolf stood next to Virgil, before folding her legs under herself into the customary sitting position for a canine. Her silver eyes followed Virgil's dark one to the crosses that rose from the dirt.

"Do you think they would be proud of me?"

' _They would, in their own way, and they would also be disappointed as well_.'

"I see."

' _You didn't answer my question.'_

Virgil sighed. "No, I'm not alright."

' _Tell me what troubles you then.'_

"Can't you just read my mind, and discover the answer for yourself?"

' _I could, and I already have, but I find that speaking aloud to someone about your problems is but another tool that can be used find a solution.'_

Virgil deadpanned at his teacher. "When did you become a philosopher?"

' _I am a goddess. I have always been a philosopher.'_

"Mm-hm."

' _Your moral dilemma?'_

Virgil snorted at the piss-poor subject change, but he did not fight it. He turned a wistful eye to the crosses.

"I find myself conflicted over my faith."

' _Go deeper.'_

"…I cannot decide between something. I recognize that killing for any reason is a sin, yet my father taught me that there is justification in killing for the sake of family and loved ones. For these past ten years, I have killed many people, and as I have no family, I have no justifiable reason for what I've done, other than that it was all in the name of vengeance. This is where my dilemma comes.

"The Bible says to leave such matters to the Lord, and yet I have taken it upon myself to avenge my family. Now, does that mean that I have shunned God, or does that mean that God has acted through me all this time? I cannot come to a definite conclusion."

Lupa remained silent as she herself pondered over this.

The Roman gods, and before them the Greeks, never had something like the Ten Commandments, nor the Bible, nor any documentation dictating a set of rules or guidelines to be followed in their name, short of coming down from Olympus and saying 'you will do this.' Besides, the pagan gods freely interacted with the mortals, and either made it very clear what they wanted, or did a good job leaving hints.

Then again, the Christian God hadn't been a very big practitioner of subtlety in the ancient times, and only started taking more of a backseat roll after Jesus came into the world, which was why He no longer needed prophets all over the place, because with the arrival of Jesus and his subsequent death decades later and subsequent resurrection and ascension, came this thing called 'prayer,' which was a direct link to God Himself.

To which He became a lot more cryptic thereafter.

Then again, maybe not.

Lupa had her answer.

' _Do you believe in the Christian God?'_

Virgil raised a brow, but answered regardless. "Yes."

' _Do you doubt Him?'_

"No."

' _Do you doubt in Him now?'_

"No…but I express confusion over what He is doing with me right now."

' _Yes, I understand. While I have not met the Christian God personally, I have met His angels on rare occasion, and they are confusing bastards. I cannot say for certain what He intends for you, Virgil, but I can say this: have Faith in that He guides you?'_

" _Si_."

' _Do you have Faith in that He will correct you when you are out of line?'_

"Ye-" Virgil caught himself. Lupa smirked.

' _When I said bring about an end to the Borgia by any means necessary, I did not think genocide would be your chosen solution.'_

"My, my, a goddess that is not _onnisciente_."

The she-wolf shrugged. _'While I cannot claim to be only human, I can say that I am not perfect…but do you see it now, my student?'_

Virgil slowly nodded. "I think I understand…I understand that if God wants something to happen, He will make it happen or He will let it happen, and if He does not want something to happen, He will stop it according to His will."

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. He exhaled slowly, and when his lids fluttered open, Lupa internally smiled at the unwavering absolution, and unshakable resolve in his eyes.

"I understand now that the Lord needed me to do things on this earth, and when I began to take it too far, he stepped in through Ezio to stop me."

' _Do you know how many people would call you a delusional fool for your belief?'_

"Too many."

' _What would you do if one approached you to tell you this?'_

"I would tell them to depart from me, and that I would pray for them regardless of what they wanted or believed."

' _And if they continued to press their argument?'_

" _Allora io direi loro di andare a scopare se stessi_ , for they have now crossed a line and annoyed me."

Lupa snorted, but she quickly turned serious. _'What are you going to do now?'_

Virgil sighed. "I suppose I will return to _Isola Tiberina_ , and make amends with Ezio before confronting Claudia at the _Rosa in Fiore_ , and hope that I have not destroyed any chance at a relationship."

Lupa nodded once. _'A solid plan, my student.'_ The she-wolf rose to her paws. _'Come. I have a gift for you.'_

Virgil raised a brow, but he rose to his feet nonetheless and followed, but before giving the crosses of his loved ones a final, meaningful look accompanied by a short prayer. His cape flowed behind him as he came to stand by his teacher's side, and he followed behind her as she padded away up the hill and turned sharply to the left.

A lone tree stood alone on top of the cliff that overlooked Virgil's destroyed home, and Lupa trotted around to the tree's other side, pausing momentarily to make sure it was clear that she intended Virgil to follow her around the side, and then she disappeared completely.

The Prowler did not question it, and merely walked around to the other side of the tree, where he found this out-of-place hole at the roots. Shrugging, he hopped down…and landed on his feet within a stone chamber with a hole in the roof that let in a single ray of light.

A ray of light that illuminated a suit of heavy armor.

' _That is the Helmschmied Drachen armor_ … _your father wore this during his days as a soldier of Rome. After his death, I took it, and hid it here?'_

"Why?" Virgil's tone was one that contained just the barest amount of icy steel.

Lupa's silver eyes flicked to him. _'For when you were deserving of wearing it.'_

"Well that's not at all cliché…whatever. It looks cool."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The armor was heavy, and something Virgil was not used too. Over his arms he wore the thick bracers, on his shoulders he wore the heavy spaulders, over his chest was the massive, intricately carved plate of steel that probably weighed more than your average child. The armor did not have anything that covered the legs, so Virgil's trousers and boots remained the same. Over his new look, his cape and hood were still present.

On his left hip was La Volpe's Bite, on his right thigh was the gun of the late Baron de Valois, and hidden behind him was his miniature crossbow. Interestingly enough, the underside of each bracer came pre-equipped with a Hidden Blade like the one Ezio and his Assassins used, but Lupa explained that the people in the white hoods were not the only ones that knew how to make secret weaponry. Regardless, Virgil still did away with the right Blade, and replaced the left with his fold-out Hidden Blade.

' _Your father would be proud.'_

"Thank you, _insegnante_."

' _You are welcome,_ mio studente _.'_

…

"What now?"

Lupa grinned, a rather intimidating sight for a wolf. _'Being a goddess comes with several perks, pagan or otherwise. One of those perks is being able to manipulate space and time to a certain degree. To make a long story short, a few weeks have passed since you entered this place.'_

Virgil's eye twitched. "Excuse me?"

' _Rodrigo is dead, Lucrezia is disgraced and has fled Rome in exile after being assaulted by her brother. Cesare has been poisoned, and Ezio has the Apple. During the past weeks, Cesare has attempted to mass his forces on two occasions, both with the militia, and the papacy. Both times Ezio was there with the Apple to put an end to Cesare's schemes._

' _As we speak, Cesare has healed from his ailment, and is trying to mass his forces in front of Rome's central gate. Ezio is on his way, followed by Machiavelli, La Volpe, Bartolomeo, and Claudia, while an army led by Fabio Orsini approaches to arrest Cesare on orders of Pope Julius II for the crimes of murder, betrayal, and incest.'_

"I am going, and you cannot stop me."

' _I never intended to stop you. Now go, and bring peace to Rome once and for all.'_

Lupa glowed brightly, causing Virgil to close his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing on a rooftop in the middle of the afternoon, and a vicious battle raged below him. Oh, and Claudia was about to be dismembered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The past few weeks had been rough for the Auditore woman.

Her lover and her brother almost kill each other over a key (and a battle over philosophy), then said lover disappears only for his teacher, a figure straight out of mythology (no one tried to figure that one out), to show up and give a lecture over history and personal motivation, then leave herself on the promise of straightening out said lover, only for weeks to pass with no sign of Che Si Aggira, aka Virgil Cavaliere.

Bottom line, Claudia's heart was not in this battle, and it was obvious because she was about to vivisected by an opponent she would typically be able to rend into little pieces.

On top of all that, she was also depressed, which was obvious due to her lack of concern over her impending death. Losing a love did that to a person.

Claudia stared up at the manically chuckling Brute, not caring that he was hefting a massive axe over his head with the intent to kill her. The axe reached its zenith, and Claudia closed her eyes…then she heard the distinct sound of a blade cleaving through muscle and metal, accompanied by blood splattering across her face.

Perfect, Claudia thought, Bartolomeo or Volpe or Machiavelli come to save her. Just more time on this earth in abject misery…

"Come now, Claudia. I know I've been gone for a bit, but that's hardly cause for _depressione_."

The Auditore's eyes went wide.

The person above her, the one with the body impaled on his sword, angled his blade so that said corpse would casually slide off. Revealed in all his bastard glory was none other than Virgil Cavaliere. Now, girls were strange and fickle creatures. You could take ten of them and put them in the same situation and never see that same thing twice. In this situation, Claudia could've consumed herself in rage, turned the other cheek, give the cold shoulder, or full-on attempt to murder the man in front of her, but that was not the case.

Virgil got lucky in that his lover launched herself into his armored chest, quiet tears spilling from her eyes.

The Prowler wrapped an arm around her upper back. " _Mi dispiace, mia amore_. I blame the wolf."

"Hm?"

Virgil sighed. "After Ezio shot me and Lupa stopped me from taking the key, I made my way to my family's decaying house, and I found myself once more. Of course, after that, Lupa decided to grant me with the armor I now where, which she happened to hide in some magic time-altering cave. A few minutes in there, and suddenly a few weeks have passed up here."

"You're here now, that's what matters."

"God, thank you for letting me meet this woman."

Claudia smiled.

"Your uncle fought back! Look what happened to him!"

Virgil's smile fell. "Right. That guy still breathes."

"Go then, fix that. We'll talk later."

"Try not to die this time."

Claudia kissed him on the lips. "No promises."

The two disengaged, with the Auditore picking up her sword, and charging off to fight once more, but not before she received a light smack on her _culo_ , to which she responded with a coy smile over her shoulder. Virgil just smirked, gave a curt nod, and went off to assist the kneeling Ezio.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Even though he had used this thing in combat _twice_ now, Ezio still was not accustomed to the massive toll the Apple took on him. Seriously, invoking enough power to affect a small range almost killed him, and it never got better. Such as right now.

Ezio fell to his knees after the Apple's energy discharged, causing several of the surrounding Borgia to attack their comrades, and a few less to immediately collapse in a lifeless heap. However, there were still many enemies to be dealt with, and not all were within range of the Apple's power, yet all of them seemed to converge on Ezio at once.

And he was too weak to move, despite how fast he recovered from using the Apple's power.

The Borgia converged on Ezio, only for several flashes of light to crisscross about the armored individuals. They all fell to the ground with massive spurts of blood spewing from their wounds.

"I'm reminded of that time in the barracks with the French. You know, when we were surrounded and outnumbered?"

"Che Si?"

"I figured you would've started calling Virgil by now, but yes. Anyway, don't you have a private army just waiting to be called forth at any moment?"

"…right."

"Your uncle fought back! Look what happened to him!"

"Didn't he already say that?"

"Your uncle fought back! Look what happened to him!"

"Hey, Ezio? You ever wondered what would happen if you shoved a gun up a person's ass and pulled the trigger?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, when I get my hands on Cesare, we're all going to find out together."

"Your uncle fought back! Look what happened to him!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Chains will not hold me! I will not die by the hand of man!"

Those were Cesare's final words as he was dragged off by a contingent of Papal Knights on orders of Fabio Orsini on orders of Pope Julius II. The Assassin were gathered at the massive gate, watching in silence. Claudia was clinging to Virgil's arm, and Virgil himself watched Cesare with eyes darker than the night sky, his free hand fingering his long gun.

"A man like that, Ezio…men like that are ones that do not lie when they are desperate. He should be killed on the spot."

The Assassin looked at his future brother-in-law. "Perhaps, but until that time comes, we will let the law take care of Cesare."

"Ezio. The law does not apply to people like us, least of all people like Cesare. He will eventually break free, and when he does, my sword's going to be in his throat."

"You mean my sword."

"It has not been your sword for five years now, and will only be your sword again after you steal it back."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Life in Rome reached a norm under the combined efforts of Ezio Auditore and Virgil Cavaliere, the unknown good Samaritans who owned every shop and location in the city and the country. Not a piece of armor, sword, dagger, throwing knife, medicine jar, poison vial, dye color, clothing article, map, or painting was sold in the area encompassed by the massive walls of Rome without the two aforementioned men knowing about it.

Outside of Rome, Ezio and Virgil coordinated dozens of operations across Europe, both to eradicate any Borgia allies across the continent and end any potentials threats to humanity before they could truly rise. An effort that was only bolstered through the added personnel from Virgil's private forces. Currently, the Brotherhood was at a level of strength not seen since the final days of Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad.

Speaking of…

"Uh, Virgil…what are you reading?"

"Altaїr's codex…the part that details his life with his younger brother, Faris."

"Why?"

"Because, Ezio. It strikes a chord within me."

"Uh-huh."

Moving on, Virgil and Claudia had _finally_ gotten married, due to all known threats being taken care of. With his great wealth, Virgil Cavaliere took his wife, Claudia Cavaliere da Firenze de' Auditore, on a honeymoon to…everywhere the newly-wed woman wanted to go until she was ready to return to Rome. Needless to say, there was a lot of 'earth moving' during that time.

Oh, and Claudia gave birth to a son, Giovanni Cavaliere da Roma, late in 1504. Unfortunately, Maria Auditore passed away just weeks after her grandson's birth, but she lived long enough to hold that child in her arms.

However, evil once more reared its head.

In 1507, Cesare Borgia massed enough support to launch an attack Viana, Spain. Ezio and Virgil were there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where are you going, _Papà_?" three-year-old Giovanni asked.

Virgil picked his son up, kissing his cheek. " _Papà_ has to go on a trip with Uncle Ezio. We'll be back before you know it, _mio figlio_. So, you be good for your mother and Aunt Pantasilea, _si_? And promise me you'll look after your sisters, okay?"

" _Si, Papà_."

Virgil ruffled his son's hair. "That's my boy."

He set Giovanni down, and the toddler scampered over to his smiling mother. Held tightly in Claudia's arms was a pair of tightly wrapped bundles containing an infant Christina Cavaliere da Roma, and her younger sister Maria Cavaliere da Roma.

Virgil pecked his daughters on the cheeks. "You two behave for your mother now, _tu senti_?"

Both babies were sleeping, but Christina sneezed and Virgil was pretty sure Maria pooped herself.

Claudia kissed her husband on the cheek. "Promise me you'll return in one piece."

Virgil kissed her back. "I promise." He turned to Ezio, "Ready?"

"Yes."

Claudia also looked at Ezio. "Promise me you'll come back too."

" _Lo prometto_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _1507_

 _March 12_

 _Viana, Spain_

Cannon fire rung loudly in the distance. The battlefield was littered with bodies and soaked with blood. Atop the hill, the sounds of heavy combat could be heard as the forces of Cesare clashed with the forces of Spain. Above it all, the sky boiled in the blood of thousands.

Ezio and Virgil encountered Cesare, but their battle was interrupted by a volley of cannonballs. Undeterred, the two mounted a couple of nearby horses and thundered across the battlefield, at least until another round of cannonballs somehow killed their horses. After that, they went on foot, to the olive fields of Viana.

In any other circumstance, Ezio and Virgil would've made a supreme effort to not be detected, due to the Creed (a concept that Virgil had fully embraced shortly after Cesare's arrest), but right now…this was a special circumstance.

So they charged across the fields, past the ruins of people's homes, and if any stopped them, they were swiftly cut down.

Eventually, the two came upon a small bit of ruins, and used the low wall to hide as Cesare and a few of men came across a desperate mother seeking aid for her injured son. Virgil did not know what infuriated him more, the way Cesare threw the woman to the side, how the guards killed her and then spat on her, or how the woman's son was now orphaned and would soon die.

Although, perhaps mother and son dying within minutes of each other was not so bad of a thing, as they would soon be reunited in a better place.

Still, that did not stop Virgil from tasting Wrath once more. He placed his hand upon the stone wall in front of him, and gripped it tight enough to where it began to crack, and then crumble. Ezio watched this from the corner of his eye, and he couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at the display of physical might.

"Ezio, I understand that Cesare destroyed Monteriggioni, and killed a lot of people there, and your uncle, but his life is _mine_."

"I had Claudia and Maria still with me after the villa attack, you had no one. Cesare is yours. I'll watch your back."

"Thank you, _Fratello mio_."

After that, the two raced forward once more, cutting down every Borgia in their path with ruthless efficiency, and if the Spanish got dumb and attacked them, they too were dealt with lethal force, only with less malice and minute regret. Eventually, they came across man who, even during a battle, found the time to preach.

"You brought this upon yourselves through sin. This is how the Lord punishes you. Ours is a just God, and this is justice. Praise the Lord! Thank you, God, for teaching us to be humble. To see our punishment for what it is, a call to spirituality. The Lord he giveth and the Lord he taketh away. So, the truth is written. Amen!"

Ezio looked at Virgil. "This is why people hate religion."

"Well, the priest is not wrong in that God takes and gives, but _this_ is not an act of God. This is Satan working through Cesare. Those who blame the bad things that happen in the world on God are weak, and those who claim this yet have the ability to make change and do not are hypocrites. If God solved everything that was bad Himself, then man would have no incentive to do good, and therefore would not be motivated to progress forward into history, and advance themselves."

Ezio placed a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "If more people in the world thought like that, perhaps men like us would not be needed."

The Assassin and the Prowler continued their path through the village, cutting down anyone that would stand against them. Eventually, they found their path blocked by a siege tower, but it was a block that was quickly climbed over. From there, Ezio and Virgil made their way through more of the village, through more skirmishes, and through more bodies, until they found another siege tower, only this one was propped up against the battlements of Castle Viana.

And Cesare was at the top.

The two most dangerous men in Europe scaled this final obstacle, and found a few grunts at the top that challenged them, only to be dispatched. Further down the stone, Cesare easily defeated two Viana guards.

"Go and end this. I will hold off any reinforcements."

The reincarnation of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad simply nodded, and lowered his hood. Cesare sensed approach and turned around. He gasped. "You! I remember you! That night…"

"Oh, so you do remember me. Good, that saves time." La Volpe's Bite was gripped with two hands. "My name is Virgil Cavaliere. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Cesare whined, and struck out. His attack was parried, and he was too slow to avoid the counterstrike, but the armor on his shoulders protected him, and he lost his cape.

"My name is Virgil Cavaliere. You killed my mother. Prepare to die."

Cesare whimpered, and struck out. His attack was parried, and he was too slow to avoid the counterstrike, but the armor on his chest protected him, but he lost his breast and back plates.

"My name is Virgil Cavaliere. You killed my first lover. Prepare to die."

Cesare wailed, and struck out. His attack was parried, and he was too slow to avoid the counterstrike, but the armor on his neck protected him, but he lost his throat protection.

"My name is Virgil Cavaliere. You killed my sister. _Preparati a morire_!"

Cesare did not have time to do anything, for the next strike came too fast, and the Captain General's head went sailing over the battlements. Blood spewed from his neck, a geyser of red that quickly doused the stones in its crimson coating. Virgil stared at the corpse with frigid eyes, but that did not stop him from praying.

"For your crimes on this earth, your soul is sure to be damned. Nevertheless, I will say a prayer on your behalf.

" _Perduto di Satana, anche se tu sei stato, un figlio di Dio rimarrete sempre. Puoi trovare la pace nella vita successiva e Dio abbia pietà della tua anima._ "

The reincarnation of Faris sheathed his bloody sword, and turned to see Ezio standing behind him.

"It is finished. Let us return home, brother."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The years came and went with near frightening speed.

Ezio would come to find a letter written a year before his birth, a letter that talks of Altaïr's library, and he would pursue this information...by himself. In Ezio's absence, Virgil was tasked with heading the whole Assassin Brotherhood as acting _il Mentore_ , a task he performed with deadly precision and skill.

Giovanni Cavaliere desired to follow in his father's footsteps and become an Assassin, something that Virgil had mixed feelings about. Pride in his son, concern that his son wanted to kill people. Regardless, Virgil trained Giovanni in the deadly arts, but made doubly sure that the boy understood what it was to take a life, and what it meant to be an Assassin. The boy learned well, and through the teachings of his father and the Word, he grew into a fine young man, one well-respected in the Order.

Virgil's daughters, Christina and Maria, had no desire to be Assassins, nor did they want to run the Rosa in Fiore. Instead, Christina desired to be a scholar and historian, wishing to absorb herself in the world of books and literature, while Maria desired to dabble in the world of science alongside Leonardo da Vinci, in her own attempt to bridge the gap between the religious and the atheists.

Virgil and Claudia were both immeasurably relieved to know that their daughters did not desire a life of death, and both supported their daughters with everything that they had...which was a lot, considering Virgil basically owned Rome.

Ezio would return from Constantinople, a Venetian redhead by the name of Sofia Sartor on his arm, and lots of fantastic stories to tell. Along with his return, Ezio brought news, news of his impending retirement, and news of his decision to officially deem Virgil Cavaliere as the European Brotherhood's Mentor. Virgil took this mantle with pride.

There was a short-lived peace for several years, years in which Ezio would pass from this world at 65, people rose and fell, and the world continued to spin, until the fateful day of May 6, 1527.

The day of the Sack of Rome.

Realizing the impending doom of staying in the city, Virgil, an old man of 51, quickly scattered the Brotherhood throughout Europe, tasking the Masters with creating their own guilds with those that were with them, and those among the streets that were willing to stand against the tide. Virgil was even quicker in speeding his family out of the city, pulling together an armed guard of armored mercenaries to escort Claudia, Giovanni, Christina, and Maria out before the army broke through.

He was too slow.

The walls came down as the mutinous soldiers of Charles V came pouring in, and it was Virgil's duty to protect this city. A duty passed down by his father, and the goddess Lupa. On May 6, the reincarnation of Faris said his final goodbye to his family, before he met the enemy.

He was not alone, as Giovanni slipped away from his mother and sisters to fight by his father's side. Initially outraged, Virgil quickly came to accept Giovanni's presence. The two fought side by side, cutting through body after body, racking up a combined kill-count exceeding 1000 men. Despite their great skill, Virgil and Giovanni were only human.

Father and son met the bitter end together, and history would never remember the two that killed a thousand.

Days later, Assassins under the command of the aged Niccolò Machiavelli retrieved the bodies of the two Assassins, and they were given a proper burial, and their stories immortalized in the annals of unknown history.

Giovanni Cavaliere died at the age 23; as a lifelong bachelor and devotee to the Creed, he had no family of his own.

Claudia fell ill with grief over the deaths of her husband and son, and not even her daughters could bring her out of it. She passed from this earth on May 30, 1527. She was 61.

Christina and Maria Cavaliere, the last of their family, took up the mantle of Assassin, and abandoned their previous engagements. Like their brother before them, they rose through ranks, displaying skill beyond the norm. However, Death would come for them, too.

On December 30, 1532, Maria was dispatched to the New World on a mission to Assassinate Francisco Pizarro González, the Spanish conquistador. The mission ended in failure, and Incan emperor Atahualpa was killed. On Maria's return to Rome, she contracted disease and died less than a day after her return. She was buried and entombed beside her brother, mother, and father.

She had no family of her own.

Christina, now the last of the Cavaliere bloodline, sought to preserve her family. She found love in a civilian man, but before Christina and her lover could procreate, someone let slip what Christina did, and the man fled in terror. This shadow blow dealt a great emotional injury to Christina, and as she had no family to comfort her, her heart became encased in a shell of ice that would never thaw. The Cavaliere line ended in 1552, when Christina Cavaliere da Roma, age 45, died in an attempt on the life of Ivan the Terrible.

She left behind no family of her own.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Unknown_

Virgil knew that he had died, and he knew that this blue place, this warm, bright, calm place, was not anywhere on earth. He had not been here before, yet this strange place felt so familiar. Beyond those gates was a glow that filled him with warmth that he could swear he had felt before.

That man in the robe also seemed familiar.

"You have done well, Virgil Cavaliere. However, it is not yet your time."

"What?"

"Just like Faris Ibn-La'Ahad before you, a part of your soul will be sent to one not yet born, yet has lived for over a decade, while the rest of you continues into the future. This is our Father's will."

"Wait! My family...they...I have to…"

"And they will wait for you, child. They will wait for when it is your time, and they will be here. That is the promise of the Lord."

"I have so many questions…"

"And they will all be answered in time. Are you ready?"

Virgil supposed he didn't have a choice. Besides, he would see his wife and children again one day. Eternity was eternal, and when your soul is immortal, waiting for something didn't seem like much of an issue.

"Yes."

The robed man smiled, and Virgil Cavaliere knew no more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _June, 2006_

 _Camp Half-Blood_

Percy's eyes slowly opened. His body wasn't aching terribly as if he hadn't moved in weeks, but he, admittedly, felt refreshed like he had just undergone a goodnight's sleep. Following that train of thought, Percy noted he was still in the attic, and based on how the light was streaming in through the windows, it was early morning.

Back to how his body felt, Percy's noticed that his hand was cramping. Slowly panning his gaze over, he saw that he was still clutching the Sword as tight as possible. With great effort, he managed to release the hilt, his fingers making a sickening popping and cracking as they moved and relaxed.

As feeling steadily returned to his hand, Percy's turned dull in brokenness. He turned his gaze back to the dusty ceiling and continued to just lay there. After the memories of Faris entered his mind, Percy had spent the whole of that day questioning his reality. But this, the memories of Virgil Cavaliere, they were different.

Very different.

Faris had died young, at 23, with no children to call his own. Hell, Faris had died a _virgin_. Virgil hadn't. Virgil had lived to 51. Virgil knew what it was like to have a mother (something that Percy was now devoid of), a sister (something Percy never had), and a father (something Percy had wanted so badly at one point). Beyond even those things, Virgil had a wife, Claudia, a son, Giovanni, and twin daughters, Christina and Maria.

Virgil knew the pain of loss. Virgil knew what it was like to raise an entire army. Virgil knew what it was like to lead an entire army. Virgil knew what it was like to raise children. Virgil knew what it was like to have sex with a woman. Virgil knew what it was like to lose that woman, to lose his son. All the emotions, all of the feelings, all of the experiences of those times—those events…

Had all just been unceremoniously dumped into the still-developing mind of a twelve year old boy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **So ends the Second Life arc, and so ends the story of Virgil Cavaliere, from childhood, to adulthood. Virgil was a man of principle, family, honor, duty, and sacrifice. He found love in a dark world, and made a family out of it. He commanded a vast underground syndicate that was active throughout all of Europe for several years. He raised three children, all of whom became great Assassins, all of whom died tragic deaths.**_

 _ **Now, most people were probably expecting more on the Sack of Rome, but I felt that narrating it created more of a powerful effect. At least, that's just me.**_

 _ **Away from the story though. This will be the last chapter for a long time, as I feel it has been far too long since I was on my other fics. I know many people are dying to see more of my other Percys, and now that time has come.**_

 _ **Expect**_ **Ghoul** _ **to be first**_ **,** _ **followed by**_ **Xenomorphic** _ **, then**_ **Son of Jashin** _ **, and finally**_ **Backup Plan** _ **. After that, expect lots of**_ **Backup Plan.**

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	18. Questions of Identity and Biology

_Questions of Identity and Biology_

 _ **As promised, the next chapter of**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **. We left off with the end of the Second Life arc, in which Percy has woken up from a fifty-yearlong dream, with all the memories and experiences of Virgil Cavaliere, husband of Maria, father of Giovanni, Christina, and Maria, Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood.**_

 _ **So, this chapter will of course feature Percy trying to figure himself out…again. Like he had to do with Faris.**_

 _ **I've also been getting numerous reviews saying Percy should have his water powers in all his past lives, so I'll be addressing my own theories on how half-blood powers work in this chapter.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or Assassin's Creed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _June 2006_

 _Camp Half-Blood_

 _Big House attic_

 _Early morning_

Percy stared at the dusty ceiling for a while longer, his mind blank in an attempt to stave off the encroaching turmoil that comes with identity crisis and questions of purpose and reality. Finally, he sighed to himself. He needed to think, and being in thus stuffy attic was not the place to have a journey of re-self-discovery.

For a reason he didn't quite understand himself, maybe it was just out of the simple need to hold something, Percy grabbed the Sword, holding it in reverse grip, and he exited the attic. He soon arrived down stairs, at the living room, where he found Chiron reading a book in wheelchair form, reading glasses on.

The sound of steps on the stairs drew Chiron's attention to the demigod.

"Percy? What are you doing in here? How did you even _get_ in here? And why do you have the Sword?"

The old teacher was ignored in favor of trudging to the door. Before he exited, he looked over his shoulder at Chiron. "It didn't end with Faris, old friend."

Percy was about to leave for the woods, when another thought popped into his head.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the Roman gods, would you?"

"I know many things about the Roman gods. I was your Latin teacher."

"Funny, it's just in the next guy's life, he was taught by Lupa…I wondered if you knew anything."

Percy left the Big House. Before the door shut, he heard Chiron's book clatter to the ground. Outside, it was not so early in the morning that most of the camp was still asleep. In fact, it looked more like most of the camp was awake. Campers milled about, hanging in groups, sitting on the porches, walking about. The ringing of metal echoed from the forges.

Percy headed for the woods, and if the quick movement of campers away from him was any indication, the darkness he felt welling up inside him showed on his face. Then again, he pretty sure the ground was frosting over at his feet, so that was a clear indication of unapproachabiliality…Percy just made a new word.

However, it seems not everyone got the message.

"Hey, Prissy! I want a remat—" Percy looked at her— "Never mind."

Clarisse did a 180 and marched back to her cabin, not that Percy saw or cared. He was focused on keeping himself together until he got deep enough into the woods to let some stuff out. In his fast walk and dead-set focus on the forward, he didn't see the look Beckendorf shared with Silena, which meant he also missed the silent message between the budding lovers.

' _Go find out what's wrong with him.'_

' _I will when he doesn't look ready to kill the first thing that breathes wrong.'_

' _Charlie!'_

' _What? I'll go find out what's wrong when he's cooled off a bit.'_

' _Charles Beckendorf, he is_ _freezing_ _right now. That's about as 'cooled off' as you're gonna get.'_

' _Fine. I'll go talk to him when he's reverted to a normal state of human being.'_

' _Ugh, fine. You just better make sure you do talk to him, or you're sleeping on the couch for the first year we're married!'_

' _Y-Yes, dear…wait. Married!?'_

Silena had already disappeared into her cabin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After walking for a good ten minutes into the woods, Percy felt he was far enough away to vent without having to worry about a battalion coming after him. Then again, maybe not, but he didn't care, his damn was bursting, and he opened the floodgates.

Percy threw his back and roared with all he had. He roared for his wife, he roared for his son, his daughters. He roared for his mother, his father, and his sister. He roared for his brother, Ezio, and his friends within the Order, all dust now. He roared for what had been, and for what was now.

He ran out of breath and fell to his knees. He punched the soft ground, wet with dew and groundwater.

Percy leaned himself back against a nearby tree, and stabbed the Sword into the ground next to him. He needed to talk this out, verbally get these things off his mind and chest, but seeing as there was no one around but him, he would have to settle for talking to himself. And so he began to monologue.

"I had a _father_ , and a mother, and a younger sister. I had a wife, was married to her for over twenty years, and I had three children with her. I led an organization—no, _an army_. An underground army of shadows that operated across the whole of Europe—I even helped supervise the Istanbul Brotherhood after Ezio retired. And _now_ what do I have? A twelve year old's body, and everything that comes with it.

"Are you kidding me? Are you _freaking_ kidding me? I go from being a well-respected man of a decent age, a man that had children of his own, a loving wife, and was the leader of an army the world will never know about, to a child? A child that has to deal with idiotic sheep, adults that think they know better—news flash cracker barrel: I was once older than you are, and school.

"Seriously!? Middle school, high school, college—why!? Why would I waste my time with those things!? Why _should_ I waste my time with those things!? Clearly, a normal life isn't anywhere near what you have planned for me, is it! IS IT!?"

Percy took several deep breaths, and changed his path of thinking.

"And my mother," he snorted, "I just had one—and a father, and a little sister, and a wife, and a son, and daughter…I can still feel it, my love for them, all of them…I was 51 years old, and before that was I was 23. That's a combined age of 74, on top of how old I am now which technically makes me 86. And what do I have to look forward to? Wet dreams, hormones, rich kids with silver spoons in their rectums, and rude adults who get on my back for being dyslexic.

"Tch, I had a _wife_ …how do you move on from that? I had a _son_ …how do you move on from that? I had _daughters_ …how do you move from that? I _taught_ hundreds of men and women how to be professional killers…how do you move on from that? I led an _army_ …and now I'm a young boy!? I know people keep saying how they wish they could go back in time and do things differently, and I guess this is the closest anyone has come to actually doing that, and I gotta say…it _fucking sucks_."

You know Percy Jackson, devout Christian and twelve year old, was furious when he starts cursing.

"All the memories and experiences of an adult, one that has lived for fifty years, all crammed into the head of a child, and that's supposed to be a good thing? The chance to relive life and correct past mistakes? Why anyone thinks that's a good idea is beyond me. _Why_ would you want up to put up with your asshole teachers, all of whom you have outlived? Ugh, if was smarter than everyone else around me before, then I certainly am now…being old sucks."

Percy looked at the sky, the cloudy grey sky.

"Is this it, then? Is this what you meant by 'work'? Am I supposed to live my life, burdened by the memories and experiences of grown men, men who lived centuries past, and use that knowledge for _something_? What, are the Templars still around? Are the Assassins gone, or in dwindling numbers? Is it because these skills are going to help get through this pagan nightmare? How many more are there, anyway? How many more lives have I lived past Faris and Virgil? What did they do that will bring me further torment?"

Of course, the sky didn't answer.

Percy sighed. Being angry and bitter wouldn't solve anything. Besides, none of his past loved ones would stand to him moping like this. He had the memories of a fifty year old man; while they brought with them painful reminders of dead people, they also brought with them wisdom and experience.

Percy stared at the ground. He was done venting; he had gotten everything on his chest off his chest, and now there was a void there, and it needed to be filled. Mourning, perhaps, would have been the logical option; mourn for the deaths of his wife and children.

Percy wondered how his girls passed. He knew how his son died, right next to him as they fought off swarms of enemy soldiers, but his girls? Hopefully Claudia was able to move on and live out the rest of her days, then again, she was 61 during the Sack of Rome—a full ten years older than Virgil had been, but anyway—so perhaps the end of her days wasn't more than a few years. Percy hoped she died peacefully.

He wondered how his baby girls fared in life after his death. Did they continue with their studies, Christina becoming a scholar, Maria becoming a scientist, one that preached the Word and performed experiments in equal measure? Or were they caught in the attack? Lord forbid, did they join the Brotherhood, and if so, what happened to them after that?

…

Oh, great, now Percy was channeling his inner Daddy, and panicking over something that happened literal centuries ago. Oh man, he had lived longer than his own mother, because Sally was in her 30s, and Virgil had died at 51. Crap, he literally knew more about life than in his mom…that was going to make arguments really, really interesting. And then there's Gabe…yeah, Percy was already smarter than that walrus, so no worries there.

And Claudia—'till death do us part' is what they had said so long ago. Well, to put it bluntly, death had done them apart, but still. Marriage. Sex. Children. Percy knew what that was like, he recalled vividly what that was like, to be inside a woman…both places, of a woman. Claudia wanted to do things differently one night, and who was Virgil to say no to his wife's request? The problem was, despite running a whore house and having _zero_ anal experience, Claudia neglected to confer with her girls about what to expect and how to prepare.

Bottom line was that night was one of pain and slow going.

The bottom _bottom_ line was that Percy wasn't a virgin, and he knew how to both deliver and raise children.

So yeah, there's that.

Footsteps alerted Percy to someone approaching. He quickly scrambled up the tree he was leaning against, using the branches as foot/handholds for his ascent. Activating Eagle Vision, the world went blue. There, walking through the trees, was a figure highlighted in the aura of a child of Hephaestus, and the blue of an ally.

Beckendorf. Most likely to make sure he (Percy) was alright.

Percy dropped down right in front of the son of the Forge God.

"Holy-"

" _Do not_ use the Lord's name in vain, thank you."

Beckendorf coughed. "Uh, right, sorry. Um, you okay man? I saw you earlier, and you looked ready to kill something."

"Had a bad dream. Needed to sort myself out a little. I'm mostly okay now."

"Mostly?"

"I've been trying to think of something to distract myself…been drawing a blank lately." Then Percy's face scrunched up. "Actually, no. That's perfect. Where's Annabeth?"

"Uh…" Beckendorf looked at the watch-like mechanism on his wrist. "Breakfast is over, and today's Wednesday…she should be teaching Ancient Greek literature at the amphitheater right now, with the Apollo Cabin."

"Excellent."

Percy walked back over to the Sword and plucked it from the earth, and then made for the camp.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to ask her something."

"What?"

"Why am I not a girl?"

Beckendorf tripped on a tree root. His muscle-bound arms shot forward, propelling himself back into a standing position with ease.

"Excuse me?"

"I am not going to repeat my inquiry twice. Just follow me if you're curious."

"Oh, I'm curious. Normal people don't question why they aren't the opposite gender."

"Normal people…because everyone here qualifies as normal."

"Okay, fair enough, but still. Why do you ask this?"

"Follow, and you'll find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy strolled into the amphitheater with the gait of a man with a purpose, Beckendorf behind him. Annabeth was indeed teaching the blonde-haired children of the Sun God literature, and all of them were paying surprisingly rapt attention.

"…here, Apollodorus and Homer differ in their interpretations of—"

"This is all truly fascinating stuff," Percy interjected, "but I have a serious question to ask you, and I promise it'll intrigue you."

"Dude! You can't just walk in our activity time!"

Percy raised his hands to the sky and closed his eyes. "O Lord, I pray to thee. Strike down these errant pagan children of Apollo for their—"

Percy didn't get to finish before all children of the Sun God dropped their stuff and went clambering for the exits.

"—amazing archery skills. Anyway."

Annabeth stared at the empty seats. "Wow…just a few words and they run for the hills."

"Yes, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Now, that question."

"This had better be good. I was having fun."

Beckendorf snorted. "Only a child of Athena would have fun giving a lecture."

Annabeth stuck her tongue out at the black demigod. He just grinned.

Percy used an eraser to clear the whiteboard of everything Annabeth had written on it. When he was done, he grabbed two expo markers, one pink, the other a convenient shade of green. He looked at Annabeth and said, with utter seriousness, "Why am I not a girl?"

The daughter of Athena blinked. "Genetics? Although, if you pray to Artemis enough, she'll probably fix that for you. Where are you going with this?"

Percy began drawing on the white board, using the pink marker to draw the Venus symbol.

"Gods do not have DNA, yes?"

"Correct."

"Which means the only genetic material we have is from our mortal parents, yes?"

"I was born from my mother's head, but other than that, correct."

"Okay, not counting that." Percy took the green marker, and drew a cloud of squiggly lines, then he drew a slanted line down from there. Then he took the pink marker again, and drew a slanted line from there, almost touching the green line. Beneath where the lines almost met, Percy took a blue expo marker, and drew the Mars symbol.

"Gods don't have DNA, which means the only genetic material we have in our bodies is passed down from our mortal parents, which means the only sex genes I have in me should be coming only from my mother…why am I not a girl?"

…

Annabeth and Beckendorf stared at Percy, then at the board, then back at Percy, then back at the board again. Finally, Annabeth was the first to speak…somewhat.

"Huh…uh…um…" he Athena-given mind was working hard at coming up with a theory. Eventually, she found one. "Maybe your gender is determined by the form your godly parent is taking during sex."

"I can see that for the sons of male gods, but what of the daughters?"

Beckendorf answered. "Maybe Dad had a different kind of itch that needed scratching, and that's how Nyssa and Clarisse were created?"

"Yes, because the God of War is going to switch plumbing and allow a mortal man to thrust into him and knock him up."

"Okay, good point."

"There's also Thalia," Annabeth said. "I know for a fact that it was Zeus that slept with her mother, in a male form."

Percy stroked his chin. "Okay…so we've ruled out godly form…what of _thoughts_ during intercourse? For example, Ares thought of a daughter when Clarisse was conceived, Hephaestus was thinking of a son when you were conceived, and likewise with Poseidon for me."

"Well, that's how my siblings and I are conceived. Mom finds a man that she takes a liking to, and if there's love there, we're…I really don't know how we're _born_ , but we make it down to earth due Zephyros. Mom thinks of what sex we are, and poof. We are."

"Okay," Percy nodded. "Currently, the leading theory on gender determination is that our godly parent thinks it up."

Beckendorf coughed off to the side. "That's pretty good, but uh…um…there's the one case that might throw a monkey wrench into that theory."

Annabeth went still, picking up on what Charles was about to go with, while Percy raised a brow, "Well, go on then."

"Kind of hesitant to, you know, because of your faith. Haven't read the Bible much, but uh, I know it's not too big on same-sex relations."

Percy just slowly blinked. "You are correct, it does not. Moving on. Monkey wrench idea. Go for it."

Beckendorf coughed. "Okay, you asked for it…right then. You remember that one girl from the Apollo cabin, the one you beat up a few days ago?"

"Kayla, yes?"

"Yeah, her. Well, you see…she has two dads. Apollo, and a Canadian archery instructor."

Percy stared at Beckendorf for a bit, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he sighed. "And you're expecting me to lead a mob to her doorstep and burn her at the stake for having two dads?"

"Well, nothing that extreme, but…"

"Charles," Percy said. "If I would go out of my way for something like that, then I should also be wasting my time preaching at everyone in the camp for being children of pagan gods. Do I preach at anyone?"

"No."

"Do I quote scripture at every opportunity I get to remind everyone that they're heretics or sinners?"

"No."

"Then why would I care for Kayla?"

"So, you aren't bothered by her having two dads?"

"I'm horrified that she has two dads."

"Oh."

"Do you two not see what I'm seeing here? Two males had a daughter. Not by adoption. Two males _procreated_. I don't care if it was Apollo that took it or the mortal that took it, because someone ended up with a baby. This isn't even my faith speaking; this is my inner scientist. Mpreg…that is not okay. Males do not get pregnant. On a list of things that are not okay, _that_ is very close to the top…unless we're looking at this all wrong.

"Did Kayla say whether or not Apollo was in a _male_ form, or a _female_ form? Did her mortal father tell her that Apollo was a man when they copulated, or a woman? Or did he say at all? Because it sounds like she's just assuming that Apollo is her father, and not in fact her mother."

Annabeth and Beckendorf shared a look. They hadn't thought that was a possibly. Actually, they never thought about either of Kayla's fathers being pregnant, and now that Percy had given them that image, they couldn't get it out of their heads. That didn't mean they were about to go give Kayla hell, though.

That would have been rude.

"Anyway, back on topic. So we all agree that gender is determined by the thoughts of the god or goddess engaging in intercourse?"

Beckendorf and Annabeth nodded.

"Okay, I have another question: where do our powers come from?"

Percy erased his previous doodle, and instead drew a vertical wavy line, colored red, and then another vertical wavy line in blue, next to the red. Then he took four more markers, each a different color, and proceeded to finish drawing the standard double helix. Not yet done, he took the red marker and drew another wavy line, then he took a gold expo marker, and completed that helix. Using the red, he drew the first half of the nitrogenous bases, then he took the gold marker again and finished them.

Two sets of double helixes.

"Gods don't pass on DNA, not in the traditional sense, anyway, yet we inherit bits of their powers, and my mother has repeatedly told me that I look like my father. So, where do we get our powers?

"The first helix is straight mortal DNA, the second is what I think _our_ DNA looks like. The red is from our mortal parent, and the gold from our godly parent. My theory is that our powers and abilities, like our ADHD, dyslexia, heightened physical prowess, and supernatural talents, all stem from our parent's departed essence from their bodies."

Annabeth stood there, soaking in every word. And here she thought that children of Poseidon were mentally challenged. This kid was on to something. "So you're saying that our powers aren't so much spiritual, as in our soul or something, but are physical, coming from our genetic code, a genetic code that his half human, half god."

"Precisely."

"But didn't you say that gods don't pass on DNA?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Percy answered, "but the gold half of the helix isn't DNA. It's the power given to us by our parents. Their essence. It's what they pass on to us that gives us our powers."

Beckendorf nodded. "I get it now. When you say half human, you're saying that only half our genetic code is written, our human half, while the other half of our genetic code is godly essence, but not godly DNA. And Annabeth is saying that our power is only in our body, not our soul."

Percy nodded. "Exactly. But like I said, it's only a theory. Luckily, we have a god nearby that might just be intelligent enough to help us out."

Annabeth, being the child of Athena, and being a child of Athena made her dangerously curious and famished for knowledge, had her fires of science and theory raging about. Beckendorf, while not a scientist so much as a mechanic, was also highly interested in finding out if there was any truth to Percy's theories.

Percy led the way out the amphitheater, and as soon as they exited, a female voice shouted out Percy's name. He recognized the voice of Lou Ellen, and turned to see her running at him with a newspaper. She looked panicked.

"Yes?"

Lou eased up on her personal throttle, coming to a stop in front of the trio. "I saw one of Ares' kids putting this on your porch, so I investigated because nothing a child of Ares does is ever out of the goodness of their heart. I'm glad I did, because it's about you."

Raising a brow, Percy accepted the offered newspaper.

Missing mother and son…totaled Camaro…leaving under mysterious circumstances…and a testimony from Gabe claiming that Percy was a violent, unstable, troubled child who had been kicked out of numerous boarding schools, and very recently threatened him with knives.

Percy crumpled the paper up with a neutral face, one that gave away nothing about his thoughts.

"Gabriel has chosen to ignore my warning. I will deal with him in time."

Everyone blinked at that.

Lou Ellen noticed the Sword. "Where'd you get that?"

"Found it in the woods. We're going to ask Dionysus a question about genetics and demigod powers. Want to join us?"

"Sure."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The quartet went to the Big House and found Chiron and Mr. D playing cards…with what was most likely a couple of invisible spirits, if the floating hands were any indication.

"No, Peter Johnson, I do not know the answers to your questions. Genetics were never my forte. Annie Bell's mother is the one to ask…granted she knows the answers herself. For all we know, she's currently scrambling to find out herself. However, your arrival is most opportune. Now I don't have to seek you out myself."

"Yes, I suppose that is convenient for you. Why would you be seeking me in the first place, Mr. D?" Percy asked politely.

"Hmm, a half-blood with manners. Now that's something I haven't seen in decades. Anyway, to answer your question…Father has issued a new decree: if _you_ do not return the Master Bolt to his hand by the summer solstice, there will be war. Oh, and you'll be turned into ashes. Can't forget that."

Lou Ellen, Beckendorf, and Annabeth paled, while Percy raised a brow.

"Well that's just annoying."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **And there's the next chapter of**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **. Hoped you liked it, because it's right back to**_ **Backup Plan** _ **after this…however, the next chapter of that probably won't be out till next Friday. The reason is because from Sunday to Thursday, I will be aboard the U.S.S. Lexington in Corpus Christi for the Youth Leadership Conference held by the Military Order of the World Wars.**_

 _ **They emailed a detailed itinerary, and there's not an ounce of free time. Besides, they said no electronics beyond cell phones, so I couldn't type anything even if I wanted to.**_

 _ **Anyway, how was the chapter? Were Percy's questions and outlooks believable regarding the memories of Virgil? What's your opinion of how half-blood physiology works? Was that a cliffhanger just now, or can we all hold on for a bit?**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review Please!**_


	19. YLC Lexington

_YLC Lexington_

 _ **I'm back from my conference guys! Woke up at 3:30 on Sunday morning and got home at 10:21 Thursday night. Spent over seven hours on the bus. In the event that this fic is up for years and years to come, I want it to be known that the Conference lasted from June 11-15 of the year 2017.**_

 _ **I know that after a week of no updates, a long Author's Note is not what anyone wants, but this conference…I feel that it needs to be talked about.**_

 _ **During the conference, we got to listen to a POW who spent six years of his life in the 'Hanoi Hilton,' an economist with a PhD, a judge, another judge, this one having escaped communist Russia and is Jewish, a retired Marine Captain, several members of the Coast Guard, and a retired general from the United States Army.**_

 _ **Now, bear with me as I fail to get my thoughts in any semblance of an order.**_

 _ **The POW told us about how he was tortured for information, kept in a cell with no light or air circulation, and about how he and his fellow prisoners developed a communication system of tapping, but wasn't Morse code. Obviously, he made it out alive, and after his presentation, we got the opportunity to ask questions. I asked him two: what do you think is wrong with the government, and what do you think of President Trump.**_

 _ **The first one got a laugh because the XO of the conference, the second in command, said we only have a few minutes not a few hours, bit anyway. The POW didn't give a straight answer on the government question, but this is what he said about Trump:**_

"I like him. He's doing what he can to change this country for the better, and no one likes him because he's trying to change things. That's why the media does nothing but criticize him and paint him in a bad light. Even though this is a country of free speech and opinion, everyone seems to have forgotten about respect. You may not like Trump, but he's still our president. If Hillary had won, I wouldn't have liked her one fucking bit, but I still would have given her the respect the president deserves."

 _ **I interviewed him in private for that and took notes.**_

 _ **The economist was a great guy, I liked him. He had us do an activity regarding a reservation wage and entrepreneurs looking to hire people. The majority of the class was looking to be hired, with a few people doing the hiring. Now, the problem was that the entrepreneurs were only looking to hire for a certain amount, and those with reservation wages that were too high didn't get hired. I had a reservation wage of $12.50, and couldn't hired for shit, no matter what sob story I came up with.**_

 _ **Starving family, war veteran, sick parents, anything. These bastards just wouldn't hire me on for at least $13 bucks an hour.**_

 _ **This exercise was meant to teach us about negotiation and the power of profit. See, the more the entrepreneur had to pay us, the less money was in their own bank account after payday, so of course they would only hire the cheapest of labor. This was also an exercise used to reflect the real world.**_

 _ **I asked myself: are these entrepreneurs just greedy bastards then, looking to line their pockets, or were they simply men and women like the rest of us trying to do the best they could for their families and themselves in a world of cruel competition?**_

 _ **Moving on, I asked the economist a single question: do monopolies exist today.**_

 _ **He said yes.**_

 _ **Now, when one thinks monopoly, the game is the first thing to come up, but for those that know of the Gilded Age of America, you guys know that monopolies are like Standard Oil, Trusts, and the Northern Security Rail Company. Those kinds of monopolies are the kinds that drained competition, and made themselves the only ones to buy from.**_

 _ **It would be like Walmart if they put Target, Brookshire's, and Kroger out of business and left only themselves as America's grocery store.**_

 _ **The economist told us that monopolies exist today in that the monopolies are controlled by the government. He said that corporation would go and lobby the government to pass certain regulations. These regulations wouldn't destroy competition, but it would limit what other competition could do. In this instance, the corporation in question now has less competition to fight, and more opportunity to make money.**_

 _ **Since it's the government that passed these regulations, it's the government that controls the monopolies.**_

 _ **The first judge that came presided over a mock trial regarding the sinking of the Titanic and a suing, grieving wife. I think it was a real trial at one point, but I don't recall; the trial was handled in a way that left half the class asleep and bored.**_

 _ **While I forget the trial itself, I do not forget what I thought of this trial. The people that made the Titanic claimed it was unsinkable, yet it sank, many people fucking died, and they were sued for it. My cynical nature revealed to me what I found to be a dark truth: these companies know they fucked up, they know that they went wrong and cost people their lives, destroying families, and instead of owning up to this, they do everything they can to keep every single penny they have in their pockets.**_

 _ **I like to think of those people as greedy scum, but I suppose the counter argument to that would be that the companies need their money too, so they can pay their workers and provide for their own families. To quote Cutler Beckett:**_

"It's nothing personal, Jack. It's just good business."

 _ **The cruel world of corporation.**_

 _ **The second judge to come in didn't preside over any trials, but she gave us a bountiful wealth of information. She came from communist Russia when she was thirteen, travelling across Europe before finally making it to the USA. I forget what she said about her childhood, because it was what she had seen as a judge that caught my attention.**_

 _ **When she ran for her current position, of which I forget, she had a single opponent. She didn't give his name, but she said that this man used intimidation to keep other potential judges out of the game. This man intimidated her as well, saying that if she ran for judge, he would ensure she would practice law ever again. That convinced the second judge to run even harder, campaign stronger.**_

 _ **She won, of course, but the message I got from this was corruption. This man, this intimidating judge, used his reputation and reach to make sure he was always at the top. I wondered that if he did this, how many others did the same in our country?**_

 _ **The second story the judge told us was of her time as a juvenile court judge. She told us of her most 'interesting' case. There was a boy, thirteen, who was in court for curfew violation. The judge asked him why, and he said because it was rude to smoke around his momma. The judge felt a little relief in that, seeing a bit of light in the situation, and she told him that it wasn't good to smoke tobacco.**_

 _ **The kid freaked out and said:**_

"I wasn't smoking tobacco, I would never smoke that around my momma!"

 _ **We all got a little confused, but most of us quickly picked up what he was really smoking. The judge asked him this, and the kid said that he was smoking pot. As it turned out, his mother was a drug dealer…so yeah. The judge moved on from there and gave him his curfew time, and the kid asked if this applied to the weekends. The judge got confused and asked why that was relevant.**_

"My girlfriend's pregnant and I need to make sure she's okay."

 _ **Keep in mind that this kid is thirteen, smokes pot, his mother's a drug dealer, and said girlfriend is**_ _ **fourteen**_ _ **. Not a word was said anywhere in there about a father, and it went without saying that the everyone thought this kid was black.**_

 _ **I was able to pull aside a buddy I had made, and we talked about some stuff. I brought this up, and we both agreed that it was just fucked up in general, and it was fucked up how, just based on what was said about this kid, that everyone just knew he was black. It was a stereotype, my buddy said, an unfortunate one, but still. We talked about more things, and then we got to the System.**_

 _ **What is wrong with America to where a mother has to sell drugs to get by? What is wrong with America to where a thirteen year old smokes pot and is an expecting father? What is wrong with America to where seventy young men and women, upon hearing this story, all assumed the kid was black?**_

 _ **I told my buddy that when a System becomes so fucked up, so broken and corrupted like it is today, like a checker board in which neither party could see a move to make because of how muddled the board is, the only way to fix the System, to fix the board, is to wipe the board clean and start again.**_

 _ **Granted, we can't exactly just wipe out the American government and establish something new overnight, but still. Something needs to change.**_

 _ **Anyway, the judge said she kept up with the kid, and she told us that the birthing went off fine, he stayed in school, graduating high school with an education, stayed with his girlfriend, and now has a job to support all three of them. I'll think of that as the proof that not all hope for America is lost.**_

 _ **The Marine Captain that spoke to us was an older gentleman. Regrettably, I forget what he said, for at this point in the day, it being 4:30 in the afternoon and me waking up at 6:00 in the morning after hours of previous lessons and lectures, was irritated and fatigued. However, at the end of the conference, I spoke to him one on one and thanked him for his service after shaking his hand.**_

 _ **He looked me in the eye and said:**_

"I've been watching you. Out of everyone here, I think you're the only one that can make it in the Marines. If you ever think about joining, give me a call and I'll get everything in line."

 _ **I said thank you, sir, and I sat down at my table, pondering that. I personally have no intention of joining the military, much less the Marines (sorry to that one guy that reviewed thinking I was in the military; your salute is flattering, but sadly misplaced), but damn. This retired captain thought that I could do it, and offered his services to help make it happen…so yeah.**_

 _ **The Coast Guard members came in and talked about the stuff they did, their area of jurisdiction, the things they'd seen. I got to talking with one man, and he said that slavery today was higher than it was back when slavery was legal. Granted, the modern slave is a woman crammed into a shipping crate and not someone from Africa, but still.**_

 _ **I asked how he felt about that, and I saw his eyes dim. He said that in the beginning, it was horrible, terrible, disgusting, and it made him angry to know that it happened. But that was in the beginning, and he told me how it was in the present. He said it was nothing to him now, he said he was jaded to it.**_

 _ **He said it used to be like 'Oh my God! This is horrendous! This needs to stop now!' to 'Oh look, another human trafficking crate. Let's get this over with.'**_

 _ **I asked how he felt about Trump and America today, and he said that he stood with Trump, saying that the President was trying to push America back in the direction of God, trying to clean up the government. The Coast Guardsman said that, with the mess that Obama left to clean up, Trump was doing a good job. That's what he said, so please, for the love of God, do not start a political debate in the Reviews. Thank you.**_

 _ **Now, we get to the general, and this where things need a little more prior information.**_

 _ **When we got to the conference, we were all separated into different groups, and each group had their own jobs that needed to be attended to. My group was saddled with the responsibility of greeting and introducing all of the guest speakers and then saying a few words when their time was up. Well, after giving my groupmates their respective speakers, I ended up with introducing the general.**_

 _ **I got up to the podium and realized that my notes were not at all with me or within arm's reach. So there went Plan A. Plan B was to recite what I had from memory, and it would have gone great, if not for all the adrenaline suddenly coursing through me, which rendered me a stuttering mess. However, I persevered, and said aloud that I wasn't about to give up, because I'm an American.**_

 _ **I got applause for that one.**_

 _ **This is what I said:**_

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we welcome a true American hero. This man was drafted in the February of 67, and was deployed to Vietnam in the July of that same year. In the February of 69, he left the military and continued to serve our country from the National Guard. Duty would call again, and he would be directly commissioned as 2nd Lieutenant, where he would go on to serve valiantly for over 30 years. It was in 2005 that he retired with the rank of Brigadier General. During his career, he was awarded with the Combat Infantryman Badge, the Legion of Merit, the Bronze Star, and numerous others. However, it is not only brawn that this man brings to our country, but brain as well. He is a graduate of the Army War College, and has an MBA from St. Edward's University. Ladies and gentlemen, please stand and join me in the welcoming of our guest of honor, Brigadier General Jim Bisson!"

 _ **Only add more stuttering and broken speech.**_

 _ **What the general spoke about is lost to me, as I was far more preoccupied with how much I just bombed that introduction. However, I remember vividly that the general handed us all a lemon, or at least the people around us a lemon, and he told us to get to know that lemon before putting it in a box. Then a member of our group had to go find our lemon. It wasn't hard, there were several landmarks on the lemon, and the message was simple as it was cliché.**_

 _ **That was all the events of the conference, now on to the slightly more personal stuff.**_

 _ **I said that we were split into groups, and those groups were named after the planets. There was Mercury, Mars, Venus, Saturn, Neptune, and my group, Jupiter. Each group had about somewhere between nine and thirteen members in their group. At the end of the conference, we all exchanged numbers and we have a group chat going. It's an endeavor of ours to meet back up one day, although how that'll happen is beyond me. One of our members lives in fucking Oklahoma for God's sake.**_

 _ **Anyway.**_

 _ **This conference was a conference of leaders, meaning that all of us were privately interviewed during the school year, and were chosen to attend. On Wednesday, the groups had to pick amongst themselves who the group leaders were, and Jupiter Group chose me.**_

 _ **With six groups, there were six 'Leaders of Leaders,' as I liked to call ourselves. The XO, the general, and three of the councilors took the six of us to a private room elsewhere on the Lexington, and interviewed us all as a group. The question they asked and our answers are unimportant, because the point was that night, during the banquet, they did not pick me as Top Leader.**_

 _ **I got with the XO at a later time and asked what set the winner apart from the rest of us, and he said he wasn't at liberty to discuss the deliberation between himself and the others…most disappointing answer of all time, but anyway. I didn't let it bog me down, and I shook hands with the Top Leader, smiled, and wished him the best in life.**_

 _ **Wednesday night, they let us all stay up late, giving us till 12:30 to get in bed…not the best when you have to get up at 6:30 to pack your stuff. Anyway, with all this time given to us, we all got in little groups and toured the ship. And when I say 'toured the ship,' I mean we went past the little yellow chains that said Authorized Personnel Only.**_

 _ **Of course we didn't find government secrets or private meetings or anything out in left field such as that. All we really found was dust, dirt, darkness, and enough rust to give you Tetanus just by looking at it. In the first area we explored, we found an old ladder that led down into a void. Me, being the adventurous idiot I am, went down that ladder…and found nothing but emptiness, dirty water, and dead cockroaches.**_

 _ **Most places were like that actually, just old, untouched, and waiting to be attended to. Although, in one room, an old berthing area left to time, I opened a cabinet and found a set of keys. Nothing major, just two little padlock keys on a string. I took them for myself, my own little treasure from the bowels of the**_ **U.S.S. Lexington** _ **. I wonder if those keys were truly just forgotten trinkets, or if someone is desperately looking for them…oh well.**_

 _ **With two of my bunkmates, we explored the fine details of atheism and religion.**_

 _ **My first bunkmate said he was an atheist, but not the kind that profusely believed in science and hated God, the idea of God, and people that worshipped God. No, he was the kind of atheist that used to believe, but something happened in his life to where his faith died.**_

 _ **He told me that when he was younger, he watched as his parents argued and yelled with one another, before eventually splitting up in a hateful divorce. He told me that he lost his faith because he couldn't believe that God would just stand there and let that happen…he also told me that since he once believed in God, he also believed in Satan.**_

 _ **I told him that it wasn't God that let his parents fight and divorce, I told him it was the work of the Devil. He just shrugged, and we moved on with our evening, content with our beliefs.**_

 _ **My second bunkmate overheard our conversation, and he jumped in himself. He said that he wanted to believe, but he had doubts. The question he asked me was that if God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and that he knows what we are going to do no matter what, do we truly have free will?**_

 _ **I did my damned hardest to answer to him, but for his expectations and standards, I came up short. Our debate ended up attracting half of our side of the berthing area, and they all went into their attempts at convincing my bunkmate that we had free will, but I could tell that he wasn't convinced with anyone's argument.**_

 _ **What I have to say about that, for anyone here asking that same question, is that it all comes down to what you will believe, and what you won't believe. I believe that, even in the face of an omniscient and omnipresent being, we have free will to do as we want, when we want, and how we want to do it. Of course, there are limits to what we can do. I'm not about to fly to the moon, and you probably aren't going to jump fifty feet in the air.**_

 _ **Also, just because we have free will, does not mean it's okay to kill a man. That's why we have laws to govern free will, so that we don't live in a society of anarchy and violence…all evidence to the contrary.**_

 _ **Now, you're probably asking is there a point to all this beyond telling us all how my vacation went, and the answer is yes.**_

 _ **Each fold of the American flag has a meaning to it. For those that already know this, you can skip it. For those that don't, please keep reading.**_

 _ **The first fold is symbolic of life, the second is symbolic of the belief in eternal life. The third is honor the veterans retiring from the military, and the fourth represents the weaker nature of humanity, and that it is in God that look to for guidance in times of peace and war. The fifth fold is made in tribute to our country, and the sixth is for our heart, the heart which we place our hand over during the Pledge of Allegiance to this country. The seventh fold is done in honor of our armed forces, and the eighth is made in the name of our mothers. The ninth fold is performed for womanhood, in the name of their faith and love and loyalty, and that it was in these things that the men and women of this country were molded by. As the eighth fold is made in the name of our mothers, the tenth is made in the name of our fathers. The eleventh and twelfth folds of the flag are done in the name of religion, with the eleventh representing the Hebrew God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the twelfth representing the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.**_

 _ **When the flag is completely folded, the white stars of purity stand proudly against the blue hope of the night sky, representing our country's motto:**_

In God We Trust

 _ **I find that to be a source of irony, honestly. In a country that allows for freedom of religion, no matter what, be it Christianity, Judaism, Catholicism, Muslim, Wicca, Satanism, atheism, scientology, etc., that the motto of this country revolves around trusting a single being.**_

 _ **I ask myself what it means to be an American, and I debate that if this country trusts in God, then part of being an American is believing and trusting in God, and those that do not, whether they are atheist or otherwise not a believer in God, cannot truly call themselves Americans.**_

 _ **However, the counter to that is that there's more to being an American than religious faith, or lack thereof.**_

 _ **During the conference, they had us fold a piece of paper a certain way, and cut it. When we unfolded it, we had made a perfect five-point star…assuming you folded everything correctly. On this star, they had us write down what we thought it meant to be a patriot. This is what I wrote:**_

Patriotism is adhering to the principles of the American Creed, believing that that government is created by the people, for the people, of the people, and all of us are a united people, be they gay, atheist, Christian, Muslim, Catholic, or Jewish, under God.

 _ **I believe that part of being an American is recognizing that this nation was founded on the principles of the Bible, and that our Founding Fathers put their faith in God. Before anyone grabs their torches and pitchforks, I want you to know that I am not condemning atheists and other pagan religions. I am merely stating my beliefs.**_

 _ **When I say the American Creed, this is what I mean:**_

I do not choose to be a common man. It is my right to be uncommon. I seek opportunity to develop my whatever talents God gave me—not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed. I refused to barter incentive for a dole.

I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia. I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any earthly master nor bend to any threat.

It is my heritage to stand, erect, proud and unafraid; to think and act myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say—'This, with God's help, I have done.'

All this is what it means to be an American.

 _ **My favorite part of this is the very beginning, where it says that it is my right to be uncommon. I like to think that applies to every community of America, from religion to Furies, ABDL to LGBT, and beyond. If it's what you like, go ahead and do it.**_

 _ **One of our unalienable rights is the pursuit of happiness, so if it's reading a Bible, or Quran, or Torah that makes you happy, go for it. If it's dressing in a cartoon animal suit, more power to ya. If wearing a diaper brings just a bit more light to your life, wear a diaper. If being lesbian, gay, bi, or trans puts a smile on your face, then keep smiling.**_

 _ **Only, do everyone a favor, and pursue your happiness in private. There is no need to make people uncomfortable in public, no need to draw attention to yourself, and no need to end up on the news with a headline like**_ 'Gay couple murdered after kissing in public.' _**Although, if you feel the dire need to engage in exhibitionism, please, for the love of all that is sacred, have some tough skin.**_

 _ **No one wants to read on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, or on the news about how insulted you got when you were dissed in public for wearing a Furry suit.**_

 _ **Now, far above these lines of texts that may or may not have been read, I told you there was a point to all this and then proceeded to launch into the Flag Folding Procedure. At the very end of the conference, just before we got our bags and loaded up the bus, we were given the Final Challenge, and that Challenge was to continue to lead off the ship, and lead in life.**_

 _ **On the way down to the bus, I felt a void inside me, this huge pit of emptiness. This pit was created by the ending of the conference. We just spent the past four days undergoing sleep deprivation followed by more learning and interaction than four weeks of school, learning about America, the government, patriotism, economics, and what the American flag truly meant…and now what are we supposed to do?**_

 _ **Start a blog about government corruption, lies, and secrets? Start a hometown organization about patriotism? Join the military and fight for the country? Become a politician, or lawyer? Just…what the fuck are we supposed to do, man? Sleeping in and blearily waking up in the morning just to spend the rest of the day on the couch or with a controller in hand definitely isn't the answer. So what is the answer?**_

 _ **My answer was over four thousand words.**_

 _ **I can see how many people look at my fics per update, and there's generally a few thousand people that read said update. I know that a few thousand is just a few drops in a country of several hundred million, but that's still a few thousand people that I've reached out to.**_

 _ **That's still a few thousand people who have read this, and have asked themselves their own questions, formed their own opinions, created their own ideals and beliefs. That's a few thousand people I've lead down a path that's made them think.**_

 _ **And that's good enough for me.**_

 _ **During the conference, I gave a few people my pen name so they could look me up. Whether they will or won't is in the hands of not me, but if they stop by, and they do read all of this and have gotten down to here, then I want to say to those people:**_

It was a blast, guys.

 _ **To close what it is probably the longest author's note ever written, this goes to everyone that has read this, no matter what walk of life they come from, no matter what they believe, no matter what they've done in life/plan to do in life, no matter about anything that makes them who they are:**_

Find for yourself what it means to be an American, and may God be with you always.


	20. Mission: Lightning Thief

_Mission: Lightning Thief_

 _ **And we're back with the next in the of the updating slew, and it's**_ **Transcendence** _ **for the win!**_

 _ **I know how much everyone's been looking forward to this because it is, in so many opinions, 'the best and most well-thought out story I have written.' Thanks guys, I'm flattered, truly...but**_ **Backup Plan** _ **is still my favorite.**_

 _ **Anyway, we're kicking off canon after just two simple Past Life arcs, and they'll be the last Past Life arcs for a while. Not until the**_ **Sea of Monsters** _ **at least.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Annoying?" Dionysus echoed. "Certainly not the most common word I've heard out of a half-blood's mouth when they're being threatened by Zeus himself."

"Yes," Percy said, "and it has yet been revealed why _I_ am the one being threatened for the apparent disappearance of...a lightning bolt, was it?"

"The Master Bolt, yes."

"Yes, the Master Bolt," the Assassin said sarcastically. "I must be very skilled in the arts of theft to be able to steal a jagged piece of plasma."

Dionysus cracked something of a grin. "Chiron, I like this kid. He has attitude and a dry sense of humor. Anyway, the Master Bolt is not simply a jagged piece of plasma; it is the weapon forged by the Cyclopes thousands of years ago, to serve as Zeus' sword against the Titans in the first Titanomachy."

"And someone was able to steal that?"

"Yes."

"My goodness. You must be a special kind of intelligent to lose your sword, especially when it's at your side."

Chiron coughed. "Actually, at the reported time of the theft, the Master Bolt was in a secure location, away from Zeus."

"My. Goodness. A special kind of intelligent, _and_ a special kind of responsible...along with a special kind of security system, apparently."

Thunder cracked across the sky, and many people went white as a piece of paper.

"Ah, Percy?" Annabeth said in a small voice. "Perhaps insulting the King of Olympus on his home turf is not the best idea."

Percy looked at the ground he was standing on. "This doesn't look like Zeus' earth," he said innocently.

Annabeth groaned at her acquaintance's allusion to the world belonging to God, even this little piece of it called Camp Half-Blood.

"Moving on, Zeus does realize that I was ignorant of the pagans up until less than a month ago, yes?"

"He realizes," Dionysus said. "And he doesn't care. Essentially, he's not exactly _blaming you_ for the theft, he just _wants you_ to return it to him."

"Oh, if that's all...if I refuse?"

A piece of paper suddenly poofed into existence, and fluttered through the air until Dionysus, without looking, snagged it, and held it to his face, and he read aloud, "Then I shall turn you into a-oh."

Percy raised a brow, but it was Lou Ellen that blurted out the question on everyone's mind, "What does it say?" Most everyone turned to look at her, and her ears reddened.

Percy continued to look at Dionysus. "Well? We are all curious."

The Wine God beckoned him closer with a sour expression on his face, and when Percy leaned down next to his face, he whispered, "If you don't return the Master Bolt to me by the summer solstice, I will turn you into a woman, and give you to Heracles as a wife."

The Assassin leaned straightened back up slowly, digesting this new information. The deadly calm that surrounded him reminded Dionysus of the times when Poseidon was truly furious. It was like the eye of a hurricane.

"Well," the boy said tersely, "there went any vestige of respect I might have developed for my dear uncle. I'm almost tempted to put this threat to the test, just to see if Zeus is that...devoted. Alas, God wanted me here for a reason, and this Master Bolt debacle seems to be it. Allow me to make an inference: was war threatened somewhere in the recent past, say, the time between now and the theft? Global war, that is?"

"Of course," Dionysus said casually.

"Ah. Yes, it is a safe assumption that my going on this...errand, is His will. Who am I to disagree?"

"That's the spirit, ol' chap," Dionysus said neutrally. "Chiron, please instruct the Holy Man on Grecian quest traditions, and report to me his reactions and arguments after I return from this emergency council meeting. I'm curious as to what he'll say."

Dionysus then turned into a bunch of bubbles that floated away and popped at random instances, filling the air with the scent of grapes.

"Right," Chiron said after a time. "Percy, come with me. The rest of you, wait out here...or you'll be cleaning the stables with your bare hands for a month, and then the bathrooms with a toothbrush for another month."

On that happy note, Chiron wheeled himself into the Big House, and Percy followed, hands clasped behind his back like a military figure of great authority. Annabeth, Beckendorf, and Lou Ellen were all pale and green at Chiron's threat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I know this must be painful for you, my old friend, being subject to the wills of pagan deities-"

"Peace, Chiron," Percy interrupted with a calm smile. "I do not consider myself subject to the whims or threats of Zeus and his kin. I do this for the sake of peace on this earth in the name of the Lord. If I did not act for that, I would go to Olympus right now and... _settle_ things, with the false god."

The old centaur nodded, a piercing look in his dark eye. "The day that the Sky King attempts to smite you for your lack of respect, only for Him to defend you, will be a good day indeed. However, today is the present, and in the present is where we exist.

"Up the stairs, in the attic, is the Oracle. Approach her and ask...this isn't a conflict of faith for you, is it?"

"It is no more a conflict for me, than it is for a soldier to kill on the battlefield."

Chiron nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, my friend."

"Technically, I am over 80 years old."

"It didn't end with Farris, you said?"

"Indeed, but I feel that is a conversation for another time. Perhaps after I have finished my errand."

"I await your tale with eagerness, my friend."

Percy nodded, and ascended the stairs to the attic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On one hand, yes, this was sacrilege of something akin to the highest degree. Here he was, ascending the stairs of a pagan institution to confer with a pagan Oracle, something that was basically a psychic, a witch, and/or prophetess, all of which were expressly frowned upon and big no-no's. Granted, killing people, lying, stealing, and eating bacon were also big no-no's, but Percy loved to eat bacon.

Bacon was good.

On the other hand, however, God had brought him here for a reason, and made him into a son of Poseidon for a reason, and had brought him into this world in the same era of this Lightning Thief debacle-which threatened the world-for a reason. All evidence pointed to that reason being so make sure the pagans didn't blow something up.

To that end, Percy supposed God was willing to bend some rules to allow for the continued existence and survival of His children.

Percy reached the attic door and fluidly opened it and entered. Had he not already been in here, the sights might have surprised him and drawn his attention, but, as it was, he only had eyes for the Oracle. And he found her without Eagle Vision.

Score.

The Oracle itself was an underwhelming thing, being a shriveled up mummy of a woman wearing clothing stereotypical of a hippy from the 60s, maybe even the 30s. Still, Percy approached it and said, "Where will this errand end?"

The Oracles eyes turned bright green, and the air was filled with the sound of hissing snakes, which only served to increase Percy's displeasure with this entire situation. Green mist flooded out of the Oracle's shriveled mouth, enveloping the entire attic, obscuring Percy's vision. Then, the mist swirled and twisted, revealing a sight the Assassin didn't care to see.

Gabe was sitting at the poker table, his three buddies sitting at the other chairs. Between them was probably a combined weight of half a ton.

Fat Man Number One said, in the raspy, slithery voice of the Oracle, _You shall go west, and face the god who has turned_

Fat Man Number Two said, _You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned_

Fat Man Number Three said, _Ancient enemies and allies of a time long past_

And Gabe finished, _Will return with vengeance, and begin the final war at long last_

Percy's eyes widened as the implications of the final two lines hit him like a Brute with a bastard sword, but before he could ponder further, the green mist violently twisted about, and was sucked back into the Oracle, which promptly went dormant once more.

Percy's gaze lingered on the mummy for a moment longer, before his eyes traveled down to the Sword in his hand. The ruby in the hilt, the emerald in the pommel, the gold cross guard, the long, slender, sleek blade, the runes carved into the flat.

The Sword glowed a faint gold.

"The Templars and Assassins...they may yet live after all."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy returned to the living room to find Chiron patiently waiting for him. Upon clearing the stairs, the centaur sighed in relief.

"Oh good, you're still mentally intact."

"More or less."

"Indeed," Chiron nodded sagely. "What were the Oracle's words?"

"I'm going west to face the god who has turned, and I shall find what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"Was that all?"

"No, but the remaining lines pertain to the things that Farris did not tell you back doing the Third Crusade."

"The secret order?"

"Yes."

"The prophecy has you thinking that Faris' order still exists today."

"Indeed. While you may fault me for keeping secrets, especially when our first meeting was seven hundred years ago, I still consider myself bound by the tenants of the Creed."

"Of course, my old friend. I blame you for nothing. Moving on, there is still this quest that needs to be underway. Usually, in addition to you, two other members are permitted, making a total of three-"

"I'm taking Annabeth, Lou Ellen, and Beckendorf. The daughter of Athena's intelligence will be a boon, the witch's skill in magic will be beneficial, and the blacksmith's mechanical knowledge will be invaluable."

"Uh, not to dispute your logic, but four half-bloods, especially one as powerful as you in addition with three others of remarkable strength, will attract the attention of many monsters."

"Yes, and with that many half-bloods, any monster that challenges us will be destroyed quickly. Please, stop arguing this with me."

"Very well. Now, we here at Camp can provide you with supplies and money and limited transportation, but beyond a certain point, you are on your own. When it comes to quests, my hands are tied by certain laws and rules."

"Understood."

Chiron nodded. "Yes, now the lines of the prophecy. West to the god who has turned more than likely means Hades. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles, on Valencia Boulevard, DOA Recording Studios."

"Dead On Arrival?" Percy raised a brow.

Chiron nodded seriously. "Yes. Now, you will find what was stolen, and see it safely returned. The Master Bolt, returned to Zeus. That is a good thing."

"Arguable, but if it means the world see another day, then that is good enough for me."

"Indeed...what exactly did Zeus threaten you with?"

"He threatened to turn me into a woman and marry me off to Heracles."

Chiron looked disturbed. "Oh...that is... _unique_...even for traditional divine punishments."

"And annoying, but anyway. I would prefer to leave as soon as possible. While the Solstice is three weeks from today, getting a head start and using all available time as efficiently as possible is a strategy I feel is most suited to this cause."

"Agreed. With haste, your quest can depart within the hour."

" _Mumtaz._ I will inform them immediately."

Chiron nodded, and Percy left the Big House. Annabeth, Beckendorf, Lou Ellen, and Grover of all people, were on the front porch, playing a game of-

"Annabeth, do you have sevens?"

"Sorry, Lou. Go fish."

Raising a brow, Percy cleared his throat, making him the center of attention. Grover was the first to react to the Assassin's presence, with vocal gusto.

"Percy! Please let me go on the quest with you!"

…

Floored was an accurate description of how the demigod felt. First off, he and Grover weren't exactly friends; decent acquaintances, yes, but Percy honestly did not consider the satyr his friend. Secondly, Grover had proven on numerous occasions to not be up to par with any situation beyond enchilada day at Yancy Academy, when he suddenly became an Olympic-level athletic runner; how the 'cripple' could handle a cross-country quest fraught with monsters and too many hindrances to count escaped the understanding and comprehension of Percy Jackson. Thirdly, and finally, this was a mission, not a playdate, and when it came to missions, Virgil Cavaliere did not fuck around.

His decisions were based on logic, fact, faith, and understanding of one's capabilities; he left nothing to chance, and made sure all bases were covered; any variables were accounted for and calculated accordingly, and Grover was a variable the likes of which Virgil had never seen.

The satyr was a wild card, a loose cannon that lacked the ability to so much as fire its shot correctly, making him doubly useless, as the average loose cannon, when pointed at the enemy, could still do damage.

However, despite all this, Percy saw the pleading in those big eyes, the extreme hope and dependence, the practical _begging_ that was in those dark, innocent orbs. As such, despite being the reincarnation of a Levantine Assassin, who is the youngest Master on record, and a Renaissance Assassin, who was the Mentor of the European Brotherhood for over a decade, Percy was still a child, a mature one for sure, but still a child, and Grover's pitiful plea tugged at Percy's heartstrings.

That, and he was being stared down by three other children.

Still, all of this accumulated into the thought of merely asking _why_ Grover wanted to come, _not_ merely letting him come.

"Grover, why do you want to go on this quest?"

The satyr shifted, and Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder, and Percy saw the look in her eyes. So, they had a history, it seemed.

"I want to find Pan, but to do that, I need a Searcher's License, and to get that, I need to successfully protect a half-blood. You know, like find them, and get them to Camp safely. I...f-failed doing that the first time, and you were supposed to be my second chance, but I...I…" Grover settled himself and moved on to another sentence. "The council, of Cloven Elders, that is, said that my assignment with you was half-way decent, and that I had another shot at getting my Searcher's License, but only if I went on a quest...and came back...alive."

"Gather anything you think will be useful but keep it compact. The rest of you do the same. We leave to go west to the god who has turned to find what was stolen and see it safely returned, within the hour."

Percy received wide-eyed stares. "Well? Get moving."

"Percy, that's...that's five people on a quest-"

"Yes, and I don't care. You see this as a quest when the reality is that this is a mission, one in which the fate of the world hangs in the balance. To that end, Greek traditions of only three to a quest are inane. Now, if you don't want to go on this mission, speak up now, otherwise go get ready."

There was a solid five seconds of more failure to comprehend what was happening, before the quartet went sprinting for their cabins, Beckendorf making a beeline for the Hephaestus Cabin, Annabeth the Athena Cabin, Lou heading for somewhere in the distance (most likely her own place, as she was claimed but didn't have a Hecate Cabin), and Grover for the woods. Percy calmly headed for his own Cabin at a brisk pace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Percy passed the sword arena, he saw Luke teaching a class. A thought occurred to him, and he repeated in a mantra in his head, _Who is the Lightning Thief_. He wasn't entirely sure how Eagle Vision worked to find the object of his search, but it was a strange coincidence that whoever he had been searching for was always gold. With that in mind, Percy activated Eagle Vision…

Well, that was certainly unsurprising.

In the arena, Luke felt like he was being watched by a victorious predator, and when he looked in the direction of where his sixth sense was directing him, he saw a taunting smile, and a pair of sparkling green eyes. Luke looked into those eyes, and he paled as a sense of fear gripped him.

And then Percy was walking away as if nothing had happened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy didn't need much, just the crossbow ring, his Bible, and the Sword, along with the hollowed-out Minotaur horns that served as convenient storage. He was also proud to see his white hoodie was back, but there was a small problem in that, with his horns on his back, his hoodie fit him...awkwardly.

Oh well, it was probably nothing Lou couldn't fix.

With all the things that he needed on his body, Percy left Cabin 3, and made for Half-Blood Hill.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was the first to arrive, being the one with the least amount of things that he felt he needed to bring, and Beckendorf was the second, though he was decked out in bracelets, rings, and a necklace with a few charms on it. All of it was, without a doubt, collapsible technology, which meant that Beckendorf was effectively a walking armory.

"You seem different," the black demigod observed.

"Oh? How so?"

"You're more...militant. Two hours ago you were happier and smiled more, now you're straight-faced and serious."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Think of it as me putting on my game face."

"...okay."

Beckendorf didn't look entirely convinced with that, but he let it slide. Then he had another question.

"Hey, what happened to that sword you were carrying?"

"I put it in my horn."

"Huh-oh! The Minotaur horn. Lou Ellen worked her magic, then?"

"Literally."

"...you know? I think she likes you."

"I have also...picked up on those messages."

"So?" Beckendorf grinned. "Gonna pursue that?"

Percy looked at his friend. "Should the opportunity present itself, I may just do that. However, fate of the world in the balance, I do believe a personal relationship, especially one that has yet to bud, is best put on hold. For now."

Honestly, thoughts of a relationship had been nonexistent in his head, mainly because he had been a married man basically yesterday, and his feelings for Claudia weren't exactly nonexistent, so…

Yeah.

"Hey, where are those horns, anyway?"

"On my back, under my hoodie."

"Oh, that's why it looks like you have a tumor on your back."

"Yes, I'm hoping Lou can do something about that."

"Mm."

The conversation died until Lou came jogging up. "Hey, boys."

"Hey, Lou. Percy wants to know if you can fix his back tumor."

Green eyes blinked owlishly. "...what?"

The Assassin sighed. "The Minotaur horns make my hoodie fit awkwardly."

"Oh! Easy fix. _Xif sih eidooh!_ "

Percy blinked when his back suddenly felt...right. He could still feel the horns, still feel his hoodie on top of those, but it didn't felt awkward.

"Thank you, Lou."

"No prob, Perce."

"Please, do not call me 'Perce.'"

The daughter of Hecate grinned, clearly about to call him that again, but Annabeth, Grover, and Chiron arrived together, and the Camp van pulled up behind them, Argus at the wheel. The half-blood and the satyr both had backpacks, as did Lou Ellen.

"Now, the deadline is on the 21st, three weeks from this day. Make haste to Los Angeles, and be prepared for everything to go wrong."

"Excellent speech, Chiron. I couldn't have done better myself." Percy said. "How far can Argus take us?"

"The bus stop in the city."

"Descriptive, thank you."

"You'll find out, my friend. I think the phrase is 'not the destination, but the journey.'"

"Yes, the journey to the literal other side of the country, which will no doubt involve monsters, mortals, and possibly a morgue."

"Why a morgue?" Annabeth asked.

"Because there might be some dead people."

"Oh."

Percy clapped his hands together. "Right then. Into the jaws of certain death we go."

"Wait!"

Luke came running up the hill, a shoebox in his hand, and stopped in front of Percy.

"Uh, I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but consider this a good luck gift."

Luke opened the box, and revealed a pair of sleek, white Nikes. He picked one up, and gave a brief shout. "Maia!"

Little wings immediately sprouted from the heels of the shoe, and it fluttered around for a bit, dazzling Annabeth and Grover, making Beckendorf brainstorm how to make a mechanical version, causing Lou Ellen to frown as she sensed something off with the magic surrounding those shoes, and prompted Percy to activate Eagle Vision to reveal the shoes glowing an angry red.

Besides, they were a gift from a traitor, and he was a son of Poseidon. Flying was not in his best interest.

Nonetheless, he accepted the shoebox with a smile. "Thank you, Luke. After I get back, maybe we can spar some more."

Luke smiled back. "I look forward to it."

He winked at Annabeth, making her blush, shook hands with Beckendorf, nodded at Grover, Chiron, Argus, and Lou, then he disappeared down the crest of the hill.

"What a nice guy," Percy said. "Everyone into the van."

Everyone began to pile into the van, Percy going last, but Chiron put a hand on his shoulder. "I know that Luke meant well, but...flying shoes are not the best of ideas."

"Chiron... _luk hu allasu albarq_." Luke is the lightning thief.

The centaur's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"I swear this in the name of the Lord."

And for Percy, that was bigger than the River Styx.

The old teacher paled, his face becoming gaunt. "I see...take care on your journey, my old friend."

"Thank you. God be with you, Chiron."

"And with you."

Percy made for the vehicle, but the centaur stopped him again. "Yes?"

Chiron produced a ballpoint pen. "I know you have the Sword and your Hidden Blades with you, but take this as well, if only to ease your Latin teacher's heart."

"Thank you. A pen is a mighty weapon in the right hands."

Chiron smiled. "It's more than just a pen. Take it, and uncap it."

Percy took the pen and promptly took off the cap, and wasn't too surprised when the pen sprung into a sword. However, when he saw the word on the hilt, _Anaklusmos_ , his knees buckled as a massive pulse of _something_ ripped through his body, and with it came...flashes.

Paris, _Vive la Révolution!_ , another Sword, a redhead, a man with a scar under his eye, and a Persian girl whom Percy felt a tremendously strong pull towards, a pull several times stronger than the one Vergil felt towards Claudia.

Getting to his feet with a deep breath, Percy looked at Chiron. "Nice sword."

Then he got into the van, shotgun, and promptly handed Annabeth the shoe box. "Here. Consider this my apology in advance."

"Apology for what?"

"I don't know. But when it comes up, I've already apologize."

"...you're weird."

"Thank you. Argus, ready when you are."

The multi-eyed creation of Hera set off down the road.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chiron stared worriedly at the retreating van. _Anaklusmos_ had been given to him by an emotionally Zoё Nightshade at the onset of the 19th Century, after the French Revolution. The details behind her giving up the blade after retrieving it from Heracles were known to him, and he knew the face of Percy Jackson well before 2005. His giving up the sword to the boy was a more of a test than anything, a test to see if _they_ were the same.

Percy had passed the test, and Chiron felt tremendous worry, worry for Luke, what his betrayal meant, what would be done to him, but chiefly his worry was for Zoё, and for Artemis.

"Ms. Nightshade...I fear you will soon experience pain the likes of which you haven't felt since her death. And Percy, despite how much you detest being feminine, I fear you will come to find that you are more of a woman than you will be willing to accept. Star crossed lovers indeed…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Silence reigned for all of ten minutes, as everyone besides Percy digested the fact that they were officially underway and going on a _quest_. Percy hardly felt a thing. Even though this mission involved false gods and monsters, his previous missions, Solomon's Temple, Baron von Wolff, Cesare, Rodrigo, the Borgia as a whole, leading the Assassin Brotherhood for over ten years, raising children, all of that seemed much more daunting.

Lou Ellen broke the silence. "Hey, Percy?"

"Yes?"

"Will you...will you pray...for us? The quest, I mean?"

"O Lord," Lou bowed her head, and Beckendorf followed suite, and Grover after him, and Annabeth was the last to bow her head, finding this whole situation to be strange. Argus had even bowed his head, though he still had plenty of eyes on the road, "I ask you to guide us on this quest, protect us when necessary, and provide for us when you can. I ask that all of us return from this ordeal safe and unharmed, and that we all get along with enough cordiality to not bring harm to one another. In your name I pray, amen."

"Amen," chimed everyone in the van.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Argus pulled up to the bus stop, and everyone began to pile out, with Percy being the last. He hid his perturbedness at the flashes well. "Thank you, Argus. I apologize for breaking your arm."

"Save the world, then apology accepted."

Percy nodded, and the security guard of Camp Half-Blood pulled away in the throngs of traffic. The Assassin had a single thought, "He has an eye on his tongue…"

"Alright, now what?" Lou asked.

"Now," Percy immediately answered, "we wait until the bus arrives, and from there we head west using any means we can."

A bunch of ADHD demigods waiting for a bus that would be here who knows when, with storm clouds gathered above, threatening rain, wasn't really good, but they managed by playing a five-man game of hacky sack with an apple, until Grover couldn't help himself, and he chomped the entire thing in one bite.

The satyr's ears turned red amongst the snickers and chortles. Luckily, the bus arrived less than ten seconds later. Of course, that's also when Percy started hearing the whispers again, the whispers that started up when there was a threat near by. Activating Eagle Vision, he looked around and saw three old women glowing bright red. He also saw their real forms, that of bat-like hags.

The Furies.

A dilemma had presented itself. Get on the bus, and make the battlefield an enclosed area, one in which creatures the size of the Furies would have difficulty maneuvering in, but endanger a few dozen innocent, idiotic little sheep, or stay out here, missing the bus, giving the Furies ample room to fly and fight, and endangering several hundred little sheep, all the while granting the Mist more of a chance to make things more difficult by way of national attention.

Which really went against the concept of hide in plain sight.

Annabeth tapped Percy's shoulder. "Something wrong?"

"The Furies. All three of them."

Everyone paled.

"On the bus, all of you. The tight space will limit their movement, and there's less mortals put in danger that way. Be ready for a fight."

The quest climbed onto the bus, all with varying levels of apprehension.

This was their first test, not even thirty minutes into the quest, and it was a doozy.

None of them wanted to fail.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **And thus begins the first installment of canon, with a different line-up, different strategies, and more allusion to the Fourth Life, and the relationship between Zoё and the Assassin of the French Revolution.**_

 _ **Also, is that the Assassins and Templars I hear in the distance? Could it be that we might see appearances of Vidic, Rikin, Lucy, Shaun, Rebecca, and Desmond in the near future? My goodness, what are all those people even doing in 2006?**_

 _ **It feels good to be back on this story, but I'm thinking maybe one more chapter, maybe two, before it's off the either**_ **Ghoul** _ **or**_ **Jashin** _ **. Haven't decided yet, but anyway.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	21. Lou Ellen

_Lou Ellen_

 _ **Surely, this is the story that gets the most Reviews per chapter. 30+, actually, for the last chapter, and I'm impressed.**_

 _ **Anyway, here we have the bus ride, Medusa, camping, Gladiola the Poodle, and the development of Lou Ellen with backstory, jealousy, and a DelayedInspiration patented trope that's quickly becoming overused, although there's deeper meaning to it in this one than the others.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Even doing something as simple as getting on a bus, Percy's mind was channeling everything militant about Vergil that it could. Examples included psychoanalyzing every passenger on the bus, the seating arrangements, the size of the windows, the locations of the emergency exits, every passenger's disposition, where the open seats were, who was sitting next to the open seats, and who was sitting around the open seats.

With demigod hyper cognition via ADHD, Percy was able to process all of this faster than Vergil or Faris were ever capable of doing.

With a strategy already played out in his head, the son of Poseidon skillfully got it to where he and his allies were sitting on the same row, with Grover sitting by the right window, himself in the middle, Annabeth by the aisle, Lou Ellen on the opposite side of the aisle, between Beckendorf, his foot in the walkway, and a sleeping old woman.

The Furies past by the half-bloods and satyr without any inkling of knowing the truth.

Unfortunately, Grover, Annabeth, Charles, and Lou Ellen did not know Assassin sign language, and so Percy's plan would have to be conveyed with words. The Assassin leaned close to the daughter of Athena, and she got the message and leaned over as well, putting her ear within whispering distance.

"I need you to give Beckendorf your hat."

Annabeth snapped back and looked at him as if he had just asked her to poop her pants. "Excuse me?"

Percy frowned, grabbed her shoulder, and yanked her close. "When we enter the tunnel in approximately five minutes, Beckendorf is going to put on your hat and get to the front, and yank the wheel. In the confusion and chaos, I'll take out the Furies with my crossbow. With luck, we'll make it through this with our transportation more or less intact."

"And when something goes wrong, like you miss, or Beck doesn't make it, or the bus flips? What's your backup plan?"

"Take advantage of the cramped space and maneuver in such a way that our enemies are inoperable. Now, give Beck your hat, please, and relay the plan. Time is running out."

While Annabeth didn't look wholly convinced of this idea, she did as she was told. Grover tapped Percy's shoulder. "What do I do?"

"Everything satyrly possible to stay alive and not die."

That was enough for Grover, because his eyes hardened and he nodded with determination.

The bus entered the tunnel, and Beckendorf vanished at the same time the elderly-looking Furies stood up en masse and declared in disturbing unison, "I have need of the restroom."

Such a facility was not even on this bus, but to Percy's knowledge of what he could see, no one had heard, but for those that did, they said nor did nothing. The Furies strolled up the middle of the aisle, and Annabeth looked at the Assassin, panicked message clear, _Murphey's Law is doing its thing and Plan A just got shot straight to Hades; what are you gonna do now, smart guy!?_

Percy looked back at her, his own message clear, _Improvise._

Then, inexplicably, the bus slammed into the wall of the tunnel, knocking everyone off-balance even if they were sitting down. The Furies displayed how supernatural they were by remaining perfectly upright, no longer moving.

Percy popped over his seat, crossbow cocked, ready to fire, and fire he did. It was a good thing the Furies were standing up, because the swarm of bolts that ripped through them would have undoubtedly peppered the innocent sheep behind them had they been sitting down.

Unfortunately, Alecto was faster than her sisters, and she was able to dodge the tiny arrows by ducking. Seeing that, Percy immediately put his crossbow away, just as the bus shot out of the tunnel, down an exit, through more intersections than what should have been allowed by law, and then everything was New Jersey countryside.

Percy had a moment of ADHD in that, given the chaos of the situation, he couldn't help but notice the beautiful scenes of nature that he was surrounded by, and the ugly cityscape of Manhattan on the other side of the filthy river.

But anyway.

The bus ground to a sudden halt, and Percy concluded that Beckendorf had hit the emergency break. The main doors burst open, and the sheep stampeded out of the bus. In seconds, those left on the bus were the otherwise supernatural.

"Percy Jackson! Where is it!?" Alecto shrieked.

She erupted from beneath the seats, throwing them about the bus, in full Fury form. Bat wings, clawed hands, large ears, ugly face, sharp teeth, and burning eyes. She also had a fiery whip in her hand, and looked pissed.

Percy took a stand in the middle of the aisle, looking calm and serious as ever. "Where's what? The Bolt? I'm looking for it, care to help?"

The Fury hissed. "Do not _mock_ me, little b—" Alecto suddenly grinned something devious— "do not mock me _little girl_."

Percy twitched, then Anaklusmos sprung to life in his hand. "And there goes my tolerance for cordiality. Tell Hades I send him my regards and that I'll see him soon."

Alecto raised her whip to strike, and the Assassin, recalling the many times he had done this, threw his sword like a spear, capitalizing on the opening left by his opponent. The celestial bronze weapon did its job well, piercing Alecto straight through the heart, and lodged itself into the roof.

 _That_ was how hard Percy had thrown Riptide.

 _That_ was how mad he was being called a 'little girl.'

He did _not_ take such insults lightly, or at all, really.

A foul smell filled the air, and it definitely wasn't the smell of dead bodies or feces. It smelled atmospheric, ozone-ish—Percy's eyes widened. "Out! Now!"

The quest did not have to be told twice, and they all had their various methods of escape. Beckendorf, Annabeth's hat in hand, bolted out the doors, Lou Ellen, Grover, and Annabeth right behind him, while Percy, even in this heated situation, knew that he was a wanted boy due to Gabe, and realized that showing his face to a large crowd of idiot sheep after a bus blew up, would not be a good idea. So he logically dove out of the window opposite the gathered crowd, thankfully not getting cut by any glass, and sprinted for the trees.

Lightning struck the bus, causing it to go up in flames, but there wasn't any shrapnel that could have done any damage, just a smoldering bus in which everything was on fire and melting.

Beckendorf poked his head around the bus's corner, motioned with his arm, and then came running, the rest of the quest following close behind.

"Perfect," Lou said. "What now?"

Percy turned on his heel and trekked into the woods. "We continue heading west on foot until viable transportation presents itself."

Realizing that he wasn't going to stop for conversation, the quest followed, and it was Annabeth, ever the logic one, who rattled out the list of problems.

"Not to rain on whatever parade you have going here, but we all got stupid and left our bags on that bus, which is currently on fire, meaning that we have no money, no food, no medical supplies, no changes of clothes, and worst of all: no toilet paper."

…

Yeah, Percy had twice lived in a time where there was no such thing as toilet paper, or indoor plumbing, for that matter, so there being a lack of tickets was not a bother to him. Whenever he had had to relieve himself, Faris/Vergil would either find something on hand, or simply use their hand and then wipe it off in the dirt before washing in the nearest stream.

Let it not be said that Crusades and Renaissance were sanitary time periods.

The lack of food was also nothing that he worried about, because Faris, having been surrounded by Muslims, Muslim Assassins, and Muslim friends, and once decided to take up the tradition of Ramadan, in which he basically didn't eat for a month, and Vergil, during his training with Lupa, had been dropped in some random country and told to survive for a week without food.

Through nothing but sheer will, Vergil dominated the challenge.

The experiences of these two men were branded on Percy, and he highly doubted he was going to undergo a week, much less a month, without food. A few hours, at best, a day, at worst, but it was hardly nothing he couldn't handle with frightening ease.

The problem of money was also a nonfactor because, in his Minotaur horns, was his wallet stuffed full of the liberated cash of gangbangers, muggers, and robbers, collectively amounting to a few thousand dollars of assorted hundreds, fifties, and twenties. It was a very _thick_ wallet.

The other problems, clothes and medicine, were also woes that Percy gave no heed to, because wherever there was water, there was basically unlimited possibilities. He could heal himself and others, and he could clean laundry with more efficiency than Oxyclean.

So, in summary, all of the things that Annabeth claimed were problems, were not actually problems.

At least in Percy's book.

"Did you even hear me? _No. Toilet. Paper._ "

"I heard you, and I do not worry about toilet paper."

Annabeth adopted a miffed expression. "I am a girl. Lou is a girl. Unlike you three guys, going pee is not so simple."

"Neither is pooping, but when you gotta go, you gotta go."

"What? Behind a tree or something?"

"I suppose you could always use your pants. I mean, when you stop and think about it, panties are just really thin, cotton diapers."

Now Annabeth looked like she had just been personally offended. "I am _not_ **ever** using my pants as a toilet."

"Then I guess you better suck it up, buttercup, and get mentally prepared for the possibility of taking a dump in the woods. I do suggest taking extra care to pick out which leaves you use to clean yourself, because getting Poison Ivy around your anus would far more amusing for all of us, than you. Or you could just cut out the middle man and use your hand, wipe it off in the dirt when you're done."

Annabeth stopped, and indignant look on her face. "What. Is. _Wrong_ with you!? Normal people do not simply think so lightly of going to the bathroom outside a toilet!"

"Survival 101. Desperate time call for desperate measures. Strategize. Improvise. Here, if it'll help ease your mind, brainstorm ways to relieve yourself in a natural setting with the end result being the maximum comfort you can think of."

And just like that, Percy had Annabeth occupied for the foreseeable future, much like giving a small child a new puzzle toy to work out and solve.

Children of Athena did enjoy puzzles and brainteasers.

"What about you, Lou? Any worries about answering the call of nature while surrounded by nature?"

"Nope," the witch popped the P. "I've had solutions to that problem for years now."

"Oh? Care to share, for the sake of conversation and time passing?"

"Sure." Lou Ellen promptly raised her jacket and shirt, and lowered the waistband of her jeans.

"…that's certainly not common."

The witch let her close back in place. "Whenever we went on long road trips, my dad always made sure I was wearing one, and we had plenty of changes, because rest stops were few and far between, and truck stops on the side of the highway were filthy, smelly, stinky, and crawling with undesirables. So whenever I had to go, I just went. Pulling to the shoulder and taking care of business was much simpler than dealing with a changing table of possibly getting raped, mugged, or killed. Since this is a quest going all the way to LA and back to NY, a quest that's clearly going to be chock-full of monsters that'll prevent us from getting any more than a night's rest, I thought this was a great idea. It's even better when you know locomotion spells, and changing takes less than ten seconds."

Everyone stared at the witch.

"What? It's practical," she sniffed in defense of herself. "And it's only for long travels, so no one get any ideas!"

Beckendorf shook his head. "Lou…you are a strange one."

"Our entire family is a strange one!"

"You got a point there," Percy said. "Moving on before this gets any more awkward than it already is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When the scent of American food (grease, fat, salt, and sinful goodness) reached everyone's noses, everyone, besides Percy, started to water at the mouth as the smell intoxicated all of them. For Percy, when he smelled the fast food, _and_ heard the whispering, he knew that something terrible was afoot.

A monster, more than likely.

The quest exited the trees and saw a road, and an establishment that was so remote it was a wonder it was still in business. While the neon cursive sign was impossible for anyone to read except for Grover, who informed everyone that the sign read Aunty M's Garden Gnome Emporium, all the life-size stone statues hanging about raised many red flags in Percy's head.

M, and stone statues…

Eagle Vision was activated, and a glowing red figure appeared behind the walls.

Percy looked at his allies, and saw that they were all glaze-eyed and mesmerized, even Lou, clearly under the spell of the monster within. Percy rolled his own eyes, and made a small detour away from the front door, away from his allies.

Lord willing, he could take down whatever monster this was before anyone died, and if this was the monster he suspected it to be, then death would come in the simple form of eye contact.

' _God, be with them, and be with me. Amen.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lou Ellen was well-versed in magic and spells, being a daughter of Hecate, so she should have known she was under the hypnotic spell of the Gorgon. Alas, she did not. She was effectively so drunk, drunk on the smell of food and delicious grease, that she didn't find it the least bit strange to see a woman wearing dark glasses, a black dress, and a shawl inside the Emporium, a hand on her hip, like she had been expecting them.

"Welcome, children," the woman greeted kindly. "You are all not lost, are you? Where are your parents?"

Annabeth, even in her drunken state, still had enough mental function for a white lie. "Our bus was in an accident on our way to our parent's house, so we started walking, and we found this place."

"Oh, you poor dears," the woman cooed sadly. "Here, why don't you sit on these stools while I go get you all some food. Then we'll call your parents and make everything right, kay?"

"Okay!" chorused four voices in tandem. They all hopped on the stools in front of the counter, eager to be fed.

"Lou, honey, could you come with me, please?"

The daughter of Hecate was so deep under the spell that she didn't think twice of the woman she didn't know knowing her name.

"Coming, ma'am!"

Lou Ellen bounded from her stool, eagerly following the kind woman to a kitchen-like area.

The woman turned around, a warm smile on her face. "You're a very beautiful young girl, Lou, one much too beautiful to turn into a statue."

"Thank you, ma'am!"

"You remind me of myself, when I was young. Alas, it has been such a long time since I've felt the touch of another person, much less a fellow woman. Lou, would you be so kind as to come to me and let me have my with you? Please?"

The witch beamed. "Sure!"

When she was within reach, Medusa grabbed the girl and greedily began to feel her up, running her hands over Lou's chest and stomach, before moving lower. Medusa found the thickness of the girl's jeans to be odd, but it was nothing that couldn't be overlooked for the sheer sake of finally having an opportunity for release.

Medusa eventually decided that the outside of Lou's clothes were no longer a viable source of pleasure, and went about slipping her hands inside the girl's pants. She expected cotton panties that would be easily moved aside so that her fingers could play with both of the girl's holes; Medusa's digits did not feel cotton panties, and it gave her pause.

"What the fu—"

SCHLING

"Language, _qabih_."

Medusa's head rolled across the ground, and her body and clothes turned to golden dust. Lou Ellen's eyes went blank, before focus returned to them.

"I think I was just raped."

"Almost. Your weirdness caused Medusa to freeze up before any penetration could happen."

"But she was _touching_ me."

"Agreed. However, as there was no penetration, there was no rape, only molesting."

"That doesn't make me feel any better!"

"Twas not my intention to make you feel better," Percy smiled happily. "I was merely correcting your false understanding of the given situation. Your reactions amuse me."

Lou Ellen frowned. "You're a sociopath."

"Among other things, yes. Also, there's a strange smell in this air, and it seems to be coming from you."

Lou paled and immediately patted her front and her rear. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and then she saw the grin on Percy's face.

"You. Jerk."

"You make this too easy for me. Now, I believe we have friends that are most likely confused and hungry in the other room, and at our feet is Medusa's head." Percy picked up the spoil of war and placed it at his back, where it was sucked into the little slit in his jacket that gave access to the Minotaur horn. "Might be useful later."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After everyone's stomachs were full, to which Percy realized they were either not going to burn all of that and end up in an awkward situation, or that food wouldn't last long and hunger would strike again. Annabeth had beaten herself up about not realizing this was Medusa's lair, Grover being the same, while Beckendorf was just happy he wasn't a statue and hungry anymore. Lou, felt she had the worst, and she did, honestly, because she was the one whom Medusa molested.

Anyway, the quest was once again on their way west, but night was falling, and stamina was starting to run low. Percy could've kept going for who knows how long, but, being the leader he was, he made the decision to set up camp for the night. He took first watch, only he wasn't alone. Lou and Grover couldn't sleep.

"It's disgusting," the satyr said, referring to all the litter about the clearing. "Humans are destroying this world, and everything in it. Landfills, pollution, toxic waste—it all just gets dumped, and none of those laws the government passed are being enforced. You can't even see the stars anymore."

Grover knew nothing about what the sky used to look like. Percy had lived as Faris in the 1190s, and as Vergil in the 1500s, when the wonders of coal and oil had yet to be discovered. Without such pollutants, the night sky had been a dazzling tapestry of lights and colors the likes of which could only be seen today via special equipment or special locations. Back then, the sky had been an every night occurrence, no different than clouds or the sun, and it was something that treated as commonly. Now, however, looking at the sky now, Percy realized how much the wonders of the night had been taken advantage of.

"What do you want a searcher's license for, Grover?" Percy asked.

"To find Pan, of course, the God of the Wild. With my license, I can go wherever I think I need to, spend as long as I need to, in order to find him. When I do, he'll fix everything that's wrong with nature today, and the world will be better."

Grover's eyes blazed with more passion than when he was devouring enchiladas, and that was saying something.

"Pan disappeared several thousand years ago," Percy said, "and no satyr has found him since."

The _what chance do you have_ was left unsaid, but it rang loud and clear in the silent night, and Grover lowered his head, frustration at the facts and statistics getting to him. His face darkened as harsh reality sat upon his shoulders, but he refused to be beaten.

He looked back at Percy, and now his eyes were alight with something akin to hostility. "I _will_ find Pan. I swear it on the River Styx."

Thunder sealed his oath, and where Lou looked stricken, Percy just stared at his acquaintance. "I wish you the grace of God on your journey, Grover."

It lifted the satyr's spirits tremendously to hear that, because with the way it was worded, Percy made it clear he had every confidence that Grover would obtain his searcher's license.

"You two need your rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

Grover yawned, now tired. "You're right."

He got up, treaded over to Annabeth, and promptly collapsed next to her. Seconds later, there was a new set of snores reverberating around the trees.

Percy looked at Lou, and her expression made his sentence die in his throat. "What's wrong?"

Lou seemingly ignored him for a good ten seconds, content with staring fiercely at the dirt, then she looked at him. "Can I tell you a secret? Well, a few?"

Percy raised a brow. "Secrets are very personal items that are called secrets for a reason, and we are barely more than acquaintances. You want to share multiple?"

"Maybe I want to be more than acquaintances, maybe I want to be friends."

"…okay…"

"Just…humor me, please?" Lou said, straining.

Percy settled into a relaxed position, channeling his experiences as _Il Mentore_. This was the same thing he did when an Apprentice came to him wishing to confess something, of which there were many interesting stories that could be told, but Percy focused on the present, focused on what Lou had to say.

"Go on," Percy said gently. "I am listening."

Lou took a deep breath, and that's when it became clear that her secrets were going to be very personal details about her person.

"Well, first off, I guess is the easiest one to tell. Remember earlier when I said I only wore them for long trips?"

"That was a lie."

"Yeah…I also have to wear them at night, unless I want to wake up soaked. See, my mom operates on the idea of alchemy, the equal exchange principle and all that. I think it's bull, but she insisted that it was the Ancient Laws, but whatever. What I got was advanced abilities. By my siblings' standards, I might as well be a minor goddess. _That's_ how powerful I am compared to my brothers and sisters.

"Anyway, because I got super magical intuity, my mom had to get something from me as well. Compared to the very long list of things she could've taken from me, like hearing, seeing, speaking, touching, intelligence, body parts, etc., nocturnal urinary control is hardly something to cry over, but still. It sucks being a tween and still being a bedwetter, and it's going to suck being a teenager, an adult, and—well, not so much an old person, if I live that long, because then it won't matter, but yeah. What I have to look forward to every morning is a wet bed. Granted, I typically avoid those situations by cutting my fluid intake and going to the bathroom beforehand, but still.

"Although it could be much worse," Lou cracked a self-mocking grin to alleviate her sense of self-pity. "Instead of being a bedwetter, I could have been a daywetter, or even worse, not have any control over my butt. _That_ would have been terrible. I could even be autistic, and be in diapers 24/7, or Mom could've taken a couple chromosomes, and then I'd really be in trouble. So yeah, it could be much worse. Look at the bright side, right? Think positive and all that jazz."

Percy vividly recalled how Vergil's daughter, Christina, had been a bedwetter until she was fifteen.

"Well, that's my first secret. I'm a bedwetter for life because I didn't ask for super powers and my mom had to take something away from due to the Ancient Laws dictating equal exchange. My second secret," Lou's joy faded, replaced with lucid dark, "is that I see things about people.

"When I see someone new that I'll end up having some kind of important interaction with, I see things about them. Their past, mostly, but sometimes their future, too. For instance, Annabeth ran away from home at seven because she was attacked by spiders and her mortal parents didn't want her. She spent over a month on the streets before running into a couple other demigods, half starved and a major case of diaper rash because she couldn't find anything to wipe herself with. That's why she was freaking out earlier about not having toilet paper.

"I could tell you about Charles and Grover, but I like them. Annabeth annoys me, with her snotty attitude and her sense of superiority that comes just from being the wise-ass daughter of Athena. I could turn her into a field mouse and let the owls have her if I wanted."

"You're jealous of her."

Lou glared at the ground. "Her mom cared enough about her to guide her to help and give her a magic hat. My mom cared enough about me to make me a life-long bedwetter."

"Fair enough. However, you mentioned that when your father took you on long road trips, and that whenever you needed a change, he would simply pull over to the shoulder, and just now you said that it was _both_ of Annabeth's mortal parents that drove her away. From what I gather, your father cared enough about you to make you comfortable during an extended period of time trapped in a seatbelt, while Annabeth's father cast her from his house."

"What? You saying I don't have any room to complain?"

"No, you can complain about anything you want, just as I can, just as anyone can. What you do not have any room to do is pity yourself. Self-pity is something no one has any grounds to feel, for there is someone who always has it worse. Your father loves you, remember that, Annabeth's did not. Now, get some rest."

"Get some rest," Lou echoed hollowly. "Yeah, can't wait to hasten my waking up with pee all over me."

Once more, Percy recalled how his daughter in a previous life had been wetting her bed until she was in her mid-teens.

"As you said, Lou Ellen Williams: it could be much worse. Be thankful that your situation is as it is."

The witch rounded on him, green eyes glowing with magical power. " _Be. Thankful_!? I—"

Percy bolted to his feet, drawing up to his full height in an instant. He was taller than Hecate's Daughter, and his sheer _presence_ dwarfed the girl beyond measure. No longer did she stand before Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, but before Virgil Cavaliere, son of Virile, father of Giovanni, Christina, and Maria, husband of Claudia, Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood.

One did not simply use _that_ tone of voice when speaking to _Il Mentore_.

"Yes, be thankful, for the Lord has blessed you with friends and family, clothes and food, power and strength. Do not be quick to judge harshly your standing in life, for there are those who would be quick to change places with you, and you would soon come to find that a hindrance such as nocturnal enuresis is much more preferable to begging for food and sleeping in the dirt."

Vergil's eyes bore into Lou Ellen's, far outstripping her in power, experience, magnitude, _everything_.

The witch was like dry grass to his inferno.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Upon waking the next morning, to which Annabeth, Charles, Grover and Lou were all disgruntled at Percy shouldering everyone's watch instead of getting his allotted rest last night, you would never have known that deep conversations took place and an argument had broken out last night. Percy was friendly, cordial, and borderline sociopathic as usual, and Lou was her usual chipper self, and Grover had become clumsy and nervous again.

Though he had found a pink poodle by the name of Gladiola (who was a male), who was willing to help's the quest out on their transportation problem, by informing them that his owners had put up a $200 reward for his safe return…not that the poodle wanted to return, but he was willing to help. There was a train station further down the way, and while all of that was well and good, there was still a small problem.

"$200 bucks won't be enough to buy tickets for all of us to get to LA," Annabeth correctly surmised.

"Not to worry," Percy said happily. "I've got it covered."

"What? Is the Lord going to provide for us?"

"Oh, he already has. Several months ago, actually."

"The heck are you talking about?"

"Language," Percy chastised. "And how about instead of questioning things, you let just let everything _flow_."

Realizing she wasn't about to win this battle, Annabeth conceded.

The quest dropped Gladiola off, received their reward, and found the train station.

"All right, what's was your plan, exactly?"

Percy took his wallet out of the slit he had cut in his jacket, and his allies all stared at how fat it was. The Assassin approached the ticket booth, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that the line only went as far as Denver…and something else. He also only had five hundreds in his hand, not his entire wallet. It would raise enough brows to see a child of twelve with so much money as it was, they did not need to see his overflowing wallet.

"Good morning, ma'am. Five tickets to Denver, please."

The grizzled woman raised a heavily-done eyebrow. "You got money for that, kid?"

"I believe this will suffice."

The woman was treated to the sight of five Ben Franklins, and her eyes widened, and then they narrowed in suspicion.

Percy turned serious. "Enough for the tickets, the rest to not ask questions. Check their authenticity yourself if it eases your mind."

The woman quickly did just that, and then she quickly set about printing off the tickets and pocketing the monstrous amount of change.

"Enjoy your ride, children!" Her yellow teeth were speckled with dip.

Percy accepted the tickets. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a blessed day."

"You too, honey!"

Hanging up in the ticket booth was Percy's face, captured by thousands of pixels, with a caption underneath in bold black letters, the most prominent being those that spelt out the word _wanted_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There wasn't enough room in a single compartment for five teenagers of varying size, which was why there was two. Percy took one for himself, Annabeth took one for herself, Lou Ellen and Grover roomed with Percy, and Beckendorf roomed with Annabeth to keep her company, and then Grover was soon kicked out because the witch wanted to talk to Percy alone.

"So, about last night…"

"Yes?"

"What you told me…about being thankful for what I had, and that my life was only as bad as it was because it could've been so much worse…I did thank _Him_. I…prayed…apologized for how I acted…and said thank you that it was only as bad as it was."

Percy smiled warmly. "Good."

"Yeah, and the funniest thing happened, too."

"Oh?"

Lou blushed faintly. "Nine times out of ten, I wake up wet, right? Well, last night, this morning, I didn't…I drank a lot at Medusa's, and I thought for sure I was gonna…Percy. I woke up _dry_."

"Congratulations."

"I know, right!? I mean, that's _never_ happened, beyond when I literally don't have any fluids in me for the night! Whenever I drink something, and then don't pee before going to bed, I _always_ wake up wet. But this time I didn't!"

Percy smiled, "Praise the Lord."

"Yeah!" Lou's face fell just a little.

"Something wrong?"

"…kind of. I prayed to God, and then, for the first time ever, I woke up dry, and it's just…coincidence?" she said uncertainly. "I mean, I don't want to keep praying, keep waking up dry, and then miss a prayer one night, and wake up soaked. It defeats the purpose of praying, doesn't it? Praying just to get something only to stop when you don't get it anymore…I don't want to pray like that."

"Then don't," Percy said simply. "Maybe it was God's will that you woke up dry this morning, or maybe you drank less than you thought, or maybe Hecate took pity on you. Who's to say? However, the Book of John tells us to pray with confidence for what we want, and if we _know_ that He has heard us, and that it is His will, then we shall have it. So, pray every night that you wake up dry, and believe in Him that you will."

"Okay…" the witch said slowly. "Then what do I do when I pray to wake up dry, only to wake up wet?"

"Don't lose faith, and keep praying."

"That seems counterproductive."

"Perhaps, but faulting God for not answering a prayer is like faulting your parents for not buying you that toy you wanted. There is a reason why they didn't buy you it, perhaps they were saving up for a bigger surprise, perhaps the money was needed for a larger reason, or perhaps they were keeping financial secret from you so that you did not worry about a problem above your head, and there is a reason behind all that God does and does not do. As children, both of our own flesh and blood parents, and of His, it is not our place to question; brainstorm, theorize, and infer, yes, but not question, for one day we will be the parents, and we will recognize the burden of not buying that toy, and then we will understand the pain of not granting our child the happiness that they wanted."

Lou stared at the Assassin with wide eyes. "Wow…"

Percy grinned. "I can be long-winded."

"I see that."

"I think you mean you _hear_ that."

Lou cracked her own grin, then it faded as her face lit up with remembrance. "Hey, I forgot to tell you last night about my third secret."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Lou got up and opened the door. "I like you."

She slammed it shut and bolted away.

Percy stared at where the witch had been. "Oh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Conversations of a philosophical and religious nature. That's always fun. Hope you enjoyed it.**_

 _ **Now, Lou wets her bed because Hecate ripped off Truth from**_ **Full Metal Alchemist** _ **, and she wears diapers for that, and long trips. Before anyone gets up in arms with annoyance at how diapers are once more reappearing in my work, allow me to explain.**_

 _ **A friend of mine was recently involved in a car wreck, and the seatbelt caught their front, bruising their bladder, and their head took a blow. While that sounds bad, the only real damage is that they have some urinary control issues right now, but the doctor said they'll be fine after their brain heals. They know that I write fanfiction, and this was my way of paying homage to them.**_

 _ **The diapers on road trips comes from my aunt doing that to her children, two boys, one seven and the other eleven. Like Lou's dad, she doesn't deal with truck stops and public bathrooms, and the diapers are only precautions. But anyway.**_

 _ **Now that I'm on a roll, I think I'm gonna finish the Lightning Thief arc before moving forward. Depends on you guys.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	22. Ancient Enemies Rise

_Ancient Enemies Rise_

 _ **Wow, I tell y'all that my friend was in a car accident, and only one person verbally expresses their concern. Just a little stung, but it's okay, it's okay. They're doing fine, thank you.**_

 _ **Anyway, people noticing the budding relationship between Percy and Lou...good. Zoё coming in, with her strong past relationship with Percy's Fourth Life, is going to create one hell of love triangle, possibly even love square with Annabeth potentially taking a liking to Percy. Haven't made a final decision yet.**_

 _ **Also, this is the chapter in which we have cameos from men and women who serve the Cross, the Light…**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Lou Ellen said she 'liked' Percy, one could easily infer that she just _liked_ him, not liked _liked_ him. As in, the kind of 'like' that one had for their friends, non-annoying classmates, and hobbies. A non-romantic kind of like. But Percy knew better.

He had been married once, he had dealt with courtesans, harlots, whores, he had courted a beautiful girl before he was taken under the paw of Lupa; he knew exactly what kind of 'like' Lou Ellen was referring to, and he wasn't entirely sure he was okay with that.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Even though the fifteen hundreds were literally half a century ago, to Percy, it was only a few days since 1527. Just a few days since he was a married man with children. Grown children, yes, but still his. Still his baby boy and his baby girls. One did not simply _move on_ from such an experience.

It felt like an insult to Claudia's memory to romantically love someone else, especially when Percy missed her so much it hurt. She was his _wife_ , dammit. Married for over twenty years. He knew her body, just as she knew his, and they shared the bond of matrimony.

But she was gone now.

The vows they had taken, the vow to only separate on death...well, death had effectively done them apart, and by the vows of Christian marriage, Percy was free from Claudia. On paper, anyway, spiritually. However, emotionally? Fuck no. It had just been _days_ , not even a full 72 hours, since he had awoken from his reliving of the Renaissance, and his memories and emotions for Claudia were still fresh upon his mind.

But she was dead now. It literally did him no good to get 'hung up' on her.

Percy sighed to himself, frustrated at the situation he found himself in. Going from a married man of 50 to a single child of twelve in a scant few seconds...that sucked.

A small flashback crossed Percy's mind. Beckendorf telling him that Lou was interested in him (Percy), and then asking if he was going to pursue that potential relationship. The Assassin more or less responded in the positive, saying he would if the opportunity presented itself. Well, the opportunity had presented itself with grand entrance.

Percy had also said that any relationship was best put on hold till the world was saved and the quest over, so he put his thoughts of Lou Ellen's confession and his feelings of Claudia away. For now.

Seeing that he was alone in his room now, Percy drew his Bible out from the slit in his jacket, brought his legs up Indian style, and opened up to his bookmarked page. He got a solid five minutes of reading in before the door was opened, and Annabeth plopped down opposite of him.

"How can you _read_ that?"

"By looking at the words."

"It's written in English, though, really small, too. You shouldn't be able to read it all."

"And yet I can. Here, you try."

While she looked highly dubious and scrutinizing, Annabeth accepted the offered Bible, and brought it to her preferred reading distance. Her eyes widened. "I can read this. The words are tiny and not written in Ancient Greek, but they're not bouncing around." She looked at Percy, awed and amazed.

"H-How…?"

Percy smiled. "If the Lord wills it, so it shall be. It is His will that we can read His Word, and so we can. Simple as that."

Annabeth had that look on her face that said she was thinking of so many other possibilities and explanations for the reading phenomena, but the words seemingly died in her throat as she began pouring over the Bible, drinking in every word her brain deciphered.

Still, Percy was no fool, and he knew that Annabeth wasn't reading the Bible because she was interested in it; no, she was reading it because could _read it_. It was the only text not written in Ancient Greek that her dyslexia couldn't prevent her from reading, and that simple fact enslaved her curiosity and undying desire for knowledge and new experience.

Basically, it was like discovering something new and you couldn't get enough of it.

Then Percy saw something bounding along the way next to the train, something that was eyeballing him with a hungry gleam.

"So, Annabeth. How's the Bible?"

"Thought invoking. Did you know I've never read one of these? Only heard bits and pieces."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. Also, have you ever been to the zoo?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember the Big Cats of Africa exhibit?"

"Yes. There was one male _panthera leo_ , and exactly seven female _panthera leo_ , three of which were pregnant."

"Did you want to get up close and personal with them?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Well, that is unfortunate."

"Why?"

"Nemean Lion."

Annabeth paled as her eyes bugged out of her skull. "Huh!?"

The train was derailed by a massive collisional object.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fire, destruction, train cars strewn about the trees, afternoon and quite possibly several dead bodies (hard to differentiate the stink of corpse and the burning of foliage and fuel) was the scene the quest found themselves in after the Nemean Lion knocked the entire vehicle clean off the tracks.

Several tons of metal moving at several dozen miles an hour, almost casually derailed.

Let it be known that the Nemean Lion was a _powerful_ monster.

Percy, Lou, Annabeth, Beckendorf and Grover faced the giant cat down with varying levels of apprehension. The satyr was chattering, making his sound magic completely useless, the craftsman had a massive shield on his left arm, and a three-sided hammer in his right, the smart one held a knife and her hat, Luke's flying shoes on her feet, the witch looked to be running through her mental spell book, desperately searching for anything powerful enough to do any good, and the Assassin already had a strategy in mind.

"Hey, Percy?"

"Yes, Annabeth?"

"Wasn't there a story—"

The Lion bounded forward, covering a distance of fifty feet with single leap. The quest scattered in different directions. Charles was closest, and he swung his hammer with a war cry befitting a child of Ares. He nailed the Lion right in the face, and then he barely brought his shield up in time to defend against the responding claw-laden paw. He was sent flying, massive gashes in the metal of his shield, and his arm.

The Nemean Lion looked to only be slightly annoyed.

"Wasn't there a story in the Bible that was like this? David was sent by some evil king to be fed to lions in a cave?"

"When we have more time, I will be more than happy to tell you how that story really goes, but as it stands…"

Percy twisted the ring on his finger, causing his crossbow to appear.

Lou Ellen had thrown up a magical shield, one that took the form of an archaic circle with too many squiggles, sigils, and symbols to make out, to protect herself, Charles, and the one who was trying to heal him, Grover. The shield glowed with bright light, a clear indication of the amount of power Lou had put into her spell. The beads of sweat tinging her brow was also a clear indicator of strain.

The Nemean Lion shattered it with a casual swipe of his paw, the backlash of which sent Lou Ellen sprawling with a cry. Unexplained fury bubbled in Percy's veins.

"Hey! _Micio_!"

The Lion looked at him.

"Remember how Heracles wore your pelt as a sign of pride and honor? Now you're not even worth it to him as a doormat. In fact, when I last checked, he was using you to wipe his posterior."

Everyone looked at Percy in horror as he purposefully taunted one of the most powerful Grecian monsters, but his words did the trick. The Nemean Lion opened its maw to let out a mighty roar of anger—

SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING

—and received a mouthful of celestial bronze crossbow bolts. The Nemean Lion collapsed on its side, and melted into a garment of a kind. Percy watched this happen with a dispassionate expression.

"Amen," he said dully. He turned his crossbow back into a ring, and approached his shocked allies. "Are you three alright?"

"Y-Yeah…" Lou stuttered.

"Percy, did you just...the Nemean Lion...with a crossbow...in under a minute?" Grover managed.

"A minute? I must be getting rusty. Usually it takes less than forty seconds."

"Percy!" Annabeth said aghast. "That was one of the most infamous and powerful monsters in all of history. It's only been beaten by one other hero, and that was Heracles. He had to wrestle it with his bare hands!"

"Yes, and I used a weapon of the future to make a hard job easy. Think smarter not harder, right?"

Everyone stared at him, completely dumbfounded at the absurd amount of casualness Percy was displaying at what was otherwise a legendary accomplishment.

"Well, Beckendorf, if you're in travelling condition, we need to get started on saving as many survivors as we can. St. Louis should only be a few miles away by this point."

"I can help with that," Lou said. Though she looked tired and worn out, all due to the amount of magic put into her shield spell, she still had enough power to cast an incantation. " _Dnif eht srovivrus._ "

A pulse of purple light came from her, covering the surrounding half-mile radius before fading out. After it faded, Lou managed to look both panicked and confused at the same time.

"Uh, guys…? Small problem: there aren't any survivors."

Everyone looked at her.

"Are there any bodies, then?" Percy asked seriously.

" _Dnif eht seidob_."

Another pulse of purple energy that faded after traveling for half a mile. Lou had that some look on her face. "Nothing," she said.

Silence fell over the quest, with the only sound being the crackling of the flames. Percy exhaled heavily, deciding on a course of action.

"We move on. Once we arrive in St. Louis, we'll find alternate means of transportation west."

"You're saying we just _leave_?" Annabeth asked incredulously.

"Yes. There's nothing more we can do here. Lou's magic can't find any bodies or survivors, so the safest assumption is that a divine hand is at work. Further, the smoke from these fires will soon attract attention, if they haven't already, and the last thing we need is to be here when authorities arrive. If the burning forest is what concerns you, do not worry, for the fire department will be here with water bombs soon enough. Any further arguments can be had _after_ we're moving."

Effectively in Vergil mode, Percy turned around and marched off in the direction of St. Louis.

Grover, Lou and Charles, with a new set of scars on his forearm, followed.

The son of Hephaestus saw the argument lingering in the blonde's eyes. "He's right, Annabeth. None of us have any kind of spell or tool that can be used here, but the mortals have the technology necessary. Besides, you know Percy's wanted for the disappearance of his mom; him being _here_ , at the sight of this nightmare, would only bring us more problems. Let's go."

With a sigh, Annabeth conceded and followed.

Percy's Bible was still in her hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lou had picked up the spoil of war left behind by the Nemean Lion, and she had blinked at what she held, for she recognized the pattern of the coat due to a vision she had seen of Percy's past.

His many pasts.

"Maximum Dracula…"

She ran ahead and gave the beautiful coat to the Assassin, informing only of its divine origins. Percy took the large coat and slipped into it. It had been a perfect fit, and he looked _hot_ in it. The blush on Lou's face said as much, and even Annabeth had been terrible in hiding her glances.

If Percy noticed these looks (which he did) he did not say anything. He kept himself focused on getting to St. Louis.

They got there safely enough, with the only hindrance being that Annabeth couldn't hold it anymore, and she asked Lou if she could borrow some wipes, to which the witch snarkily replied, "Borrow implies you're going to give them back to me. I do not want a bunch of poopy wipes back, thank you very much."

Hubris though her fatal flaw may have been, terribly desperate she was. "Please, may I _have_ some wipes?"

"Of course. All you had to do was ask."

Annabeth returned from behind a tree about eight minutes later with a relieved look on her face.

No, the real problem that arose during the fast march to St. Louis, was when they actually arrived in St. Louis. This problem came in the form of a certain daughter of Athena's architecture fetish.

"Can we _please_ go see the Arch?" Annabeth begged with puppy dog eyes.

Vergil had been a father of twin girls. He had been a fearsome warrior, a devout Christian among Catholics, a steely military leader, a wise mentor to countless men and women, a sharpshooter with a crossbow and a gun, and he had faced down massive swaths of men without fear. He had been stern, he had been forceful, he had been resilient as the crust of the earth...and he had been quick to cave into the puppy dog eyes of his daughters.

In all the things Percy had inherited from Vergil, that weakness presented itself.

Which was rather concerning because Annabeth was the same age as him, but was invoking the same reaction out of him that Vergil had when it came to the adorable wants of his baby girls. It was even more concerning given the fact that there were much more pressing matters on hand than going to see the Gateway Arch.

Nevertheless, Percy allowed for a visit to the architectural masterpiece.

He was also not blind to the _look_ Lou Ellen gave to Annabeth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While annoyed, Percy was not wholly surprised when he heard the faint whispering pick up in his ears as he, Annabeth, and Grover entered the underground museum of the Gateway Arch, Lou Ellen and Beckendorf choosing to stay behind so that there wouldn't be too many demigods in a single enclosed space. That, and the witch no doubt wanted to rant to the blacksmith her woes regarding Annabeth and her small episode with Percy.

An application of Eagle Vision combined with a lingering glance backward and peripheral vision yielded an image that annoyed the Assassin. A fat woman with the same aura as Dionysus and Hestia, albeit on a _much_ smaller scale, was walking a small dog, a Chihuahua, that had the ethereal aura of a chimera about it, the same way Chiron, the Furies, and Grover had the ethereal aura of their respective forms as well.

So, a minor goddess, and a monster, a terrible one at that.

Percy growled as the present battlefield yielded negative advantages. Too many people, too big a space, too many variables. The Mississippi River was dangerously close, and Percy could very well pull it through the concrete and flood the museum, but he doubted he had attained the control necessary to prevent the drowning or crushing of so many innocents. Grover and Annabeth? Sure. Everyone else? Too big of a maybe.

Of course, there was the option of separating, but this minor goddess might not have been after him specifically, or at the very least, not up for a chase, meaning she would simply attack Annabeth and Grover in a successful attempt at drawing him out from wherever he had disappeared to.

Then again, there was a less populated battleground a few hundred feet in the air.

In the cramped space, Annabeth continued to rattle off trivia like a broken machine, and while Grover paid rapt attention (with a pitifully lost look on his face), Percy instead chose to make conversation with the minor goddess.

"Greeting, ma'am."

"Hello, sonny."

"Am I correct in assuming that we are about to be adversaries?"

"Indeed, sonny," the woman smiled.

"Ah." Percy looked at the growling Chihuahua's collar. "And am I also correct in assuming that this cute little pup escaped from Tartarus? A lost chimera, perhaps?"

"How astute, sonny! And they say children of Poseidon are dumb."

Percy grinned cordially. "Yes, ma'am. I do try to set myself above my siblings."

"You do an excellent job, sonny. Lord Hades will certainly enjoy your company."

The elevator dinged, Annabeth and Grover filing out first. Before the minor goddess departed, Percy had one final thing to say, "Don't count on it yet, pagan."

The chimera growled.

The Assassin pulled the hood of his coat up, throwing most of his face into shadow. His ominous appearance attracted the attention of the rangers on duty, but they were hesitant to do anything as he simply stood at a window overlooking the city.

Eventually, the rangers had to go on lunch, which meant that the Arch's visiting hours were coming to a brief end, which in turn meant everyone needed to vacate the premises with much haste. Unfortunately, after the elderly couple, a ranger, Annabeth, and Grover got into the only elevator, there wasn't any room left for the family of three, the other ranger, or the pagan and her chimera.

The god began to bark loudly, frothing and foaming at the mouth, drawing all attention.

The pagan sighed. "Alright, sonny. If you want to do it here, then go ahead."

The Chihuahua began to shift and change, growing bigger, its bark deeper, louder. The mortals huddled against the elevator door, the ranger trembling as he held out his Taser. Percy watched the dog take its true form from the corner of his hood. He was not afraid, even when the creature spewed fire and blew a hole in the Arch.

"That's certainly counterproductive," Percy deadpanned.

A big part of the Creed was staying anonymous; a monument exploding was not anonymous.

Still, what was done was done. The only thing left to do now was protect the innocents. With distinct _schnikt_ 's, the Hidden Blades were out and ready. The chimera growled, its snake tail hissing.

"Well? Come on, then!"

The beast lunged, and Percy leapt back. The snake tail shot out, intended to bite him, but its fangs shattered like glass against the Maximum Dracula. The Assassin swiped his arm, lopping off the serpentine tail, and lion head snapped at him, only for its own teeth to also shatter harmlessly against Percy's clothed forearm. The demigod brought his extended limb back, and stabbed the chimera in the side of its neck, the celestial bronze knife gliding through the mane and into the neck like a lightsaber through butter.

The beast dissolver, and the pagan howled. "MY SON!"

"Oh, you're the one who was named after the anteater."

Echidna's eyes _literally_ blazed. "I am going to turn you into an ant and feed you to one of those accursed animals."

"Uh-huh, sure."

The crossbow was out.

SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING-SCHING!

The pagan goddess screeched and screamed as she was impaled fourteen times by a bunch of large stingers. In response to this attack, Echidna glowed with terrible brightness, and Percy swan dived out the hole left by the chimera. Just in time to escape the explosion caused by the pagan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Assassin crashed down into the water with textbook Leap of Faith technique. Immediately upon splashdown, his arms crossed over his chest, and he felt very annoyed.

' _Hide in plain sight, they said. Let the crowd mask your presence, they said. Yeah, well, it's bloody hard to do that when you're fighting exploding pagan gods! Oh dear, I hope those sheep up there survived that…'_

Yes, in all this chaos, Percy still had enough humanity and cognitive processing to feel concern for the mortals that had been left topside.

A piece of the Arch slammed down next to the Assassin. Right, he needed to get back to the shore, find a ride west, and keep his head down. Lord willing, nothing too detrimental had happened up there...another piece of concrete the size of a car violently kissed the water.

 _Percy Jackson_

The demigod froze, whipping about to find the source of the voice that called his name. An application of Eagle Vision revealed a glowing blue person/thing approaching. It was a woman...a woman that looked like his mother.

Glowing blue or not, Percy's eyes narrowed at the entity. In this world, anything that looked like a loved one was bad news.

 _Do not be alarmed, child. My time is short, so I must be brief. Your father wishes for you to come to Santa Monica. He has message to deliver to you, but being this far inland prevents him and me from giving it. Get there as soon as you can, child, and beware the many challenges you will face._

The entity began to fade away, but she had a final message before she completely vanished.

 _Your father watches you with great pride._

Percy stared at where the Nereid had been, unblinkingly. Then he kicked to the surface.

It appeared that a detour had to be made.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Finding his worried allies had been easy, for they had no idea how to hide among a crowd. They tried to ask, talking over each other, what had happened, to which Percy shushed them all and promised an explanation when they were out of the area. The train station was the chosen destination, in hopes there was another line west, and that all rail traffic was still operable given the previous disaster at the hands of the Nemean Lion.

All things considered, the trek back to the trains had been an easy one filled with no close calls, aside from the mother of the family (everyone had survived, thankfully) almost calling Percy out due to his rather noticeable coat, but the paramedics thought she was simply delusional.

No, the true problem came when the quest passed a news van, and they picked up on what was being said.

"While the previous train accident of today was ruled as a terrorist attack with unknown perpetrators, the bombing of the Gateway Arch has one suspect: Percy Jackson. You may have heard his name before, and that's because twelve-year-old Percy is already wanted for the suspected kidnapping of his mother, Sally Jackson, and the destruction of his step-father's, Gabriel Ugliano's, Camaro."

The TV behind the reporter cut to a feed from a surveillance camera.

"Here we see Percy Jackson, aged twelve, in a heavy leather coat of some kind, exiting the Gateway Arch elevator with his hood drawn up in a suspicious manner. Fast-forwarding, we can now see Percy engaging a service dog with blades, ones that have been hidden in the sleeves of his coat, and a grenade to blow a hole in the floor. After that he then proceeds to use more explosives, before swan diving through the hole. From there, cameras lose sight of him, though it is suspected that he may have died on impact of the Mississippi River. Searches for his body have so far come up negative.

"If you see this boy or have any information regarding his whereabouts, please, contact this number immediately and help bring this dangerous criminal to justice."

In a twist that had everyone believing a god was watching out for them (which Percy knew was a fact), there was a train prepped and ready for departure to Denver, and they arrived just in time. Their seats from the other train were even available.

Lou Ellen summed up the situation ever so eloquently.

"Well...that's a problem."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _A skyscraper in the middle of a sprawling metropolis_

Around an ovular table, several men in expensive suits sat in expensive chairs, their attention focused on an expensive TV that had just finished reporting the situation in St. Louis. Upon the finger of every man present, was a gold ring adorned with rubies...rubies cut and stylized to form a cross.

The TV reversed the footage, and split into two screens. On the left, was the child, the glints of his blades shining from past the sleeves of his coat, a coat which every man recognized as one of Jacob Frye's many adornments from the 1860s; and the right image was the child caught mid swan dive, a form that every man recognized most strongly.

At the head of this table, a man rose from behind the television, a bearded man.

"Gentlemen," Warren Vidic said, "they've returned."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _South Dakota_

" _The Farm"_

30 men and women of ages sixteen to sixty, all had their eyes glued to their own TV, and they couldn't believe what they had just watched. A child, wearing something akin to Jacob Frye's Maximum Dracula, with Hidden Blades, and just killed a dog and blown up the Gateway Arch, but not before performing a Leap of Faith into the Mississippi River.

That was their trademark.

William Miles, father of Desmond Miles, rose from the couch.

"Everyone, we're going to find this Percy Jackson, and bring him in for questioning."

No one disputed the defacto leader of the shattered and broken Brotherhood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Bad Weather, a bar in Brooklyn, New York._

The place wasn't as lively during this time of day, but it would soon be bustling within the next few hours. Still, there were people in attendance, and the TV's were playing the news. While everyone was shocked that it was apparently a kid that had derailed a train and blown up the Gateway Arch, there was one person, an employee behind the bar, that had more cause to be enraptured than anyone else.

This employee recognized those movements, those weapons, and it brought to him great shock, and with that shock came distraction. He was pulled back to reality by an impatient customer.

"Hey, buddy, I asked for that Shirley Templar two minutes ago. Where is it?"

"Uh, coming right up. Just a moment, sir." The employee hurried to that back, to the manager's office, and didn't even knock. He was in a hurry. "Boss, an emergency just came up. I need to leave, now."

"When do you think you'll be back?"

"I don't know."

"If you're not back within two weeks, you're fired."

"Deal."

Desmond Miles bolted out of the establishment, to his car, and burned rubber back to his apartment, where he hastily packed clothes, money, and weapons, and then hit the highway with reckless abandon.

He needed answers as to why a kid was running around as an Assassin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **It's going to be really fun when all these adults have to deal with the kid who commanded their Order 500 years ago. Especially when said kid beats all of them within an inch of their collective lives. Or even better, when the adults try to**_ **order** _ **the kid around.**_

 _ **Oh, yes. Really fun.**_

 _ **Anyway, we all know what comes next: Ares, a water park, some animal cruelty, character development and bonding, and the Lotus Hotel. All lots of fun.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	23. The Witch's Mistake

_The Witch's Mistake_

 _ **So, everyone's Reviewing about my friend, and the fact that there was a major typo regarding centuries and millennia, but I think the important part is where everyone is hyped for when Percy decks the modern-day Assassins in the schnoz.**_

 _ **Good. Very good.**_

 _ **Also, thank you all for your concern regarding my friend. Like Lou, they're disgruntled over their nighttime situation, but are otherwise chipper. Especially so, considering the person that ran into them is paying for the damages because they were on their phone and not paying attention.**_

 _ **Now, onto the brutality!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The average time on a train going from St. Louis to Denver was within the neighborhood of seventeen and eighteen hours, and after the hecticness of Percy being involved in blowing up the Gateway Arch, everyone was just a little tired (they were still children, after all), and they promptly crashed in their seats.

Beckendorf and Grover somehow ended up using each other as a plushie, while Annabeth and Lou managed to find purchase on either of Percy's arms, to which it took the Assassin a few extra minutes to find the inner piece necessary for sleep, because he couldn't help but respect the amount of danger he was in.

On one arm, he had one of the brightest kids on the planet, who could be _very_ mean with her words, easily capable of targeting low blows with lethal efficiency, and on the other arm he had one of the most powerful kids on the planet, one who was also wearing a diaper for her bedwetting issues. Should they wake up, and an argument over him begin, it was pathetically easy to predict that a cat fight would ensue, one in which Annabeth would target Lou's day-wearing, and Lou would get deeply cut by that remark, and she would retaliate by turning Annabeth into field mouse, and feed her to an owl.

Or something like that.

The bottom line was that Percy had trouble easing his mind to a point where he could find sleep.

Once he did, he became privy to such wondrous information.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy found himself standing over the largest pit he had ever seen, and he had stood atop the Colosseum looking down.

 _Impossible…,_ a voice rumbled upward from the depths of this darkness. _I sent you to the Jurassic Era._

Percy raised a brow at what he was hearing. The voice was eerily familiar, like a face he had seen in a nightmare so many years ago.

 _No, wait. Your soul. You only have two-sixths of a soul. That means,_ the voice seemingly chuckled, but to Percy it sounded like someone banging knives together. _They are such a meddlesome force, truly. They must have intercepted your soul and left your body here, and as you remember each passing life, you gain another piece of your fractured inner being. No matter. While potentially problematic, your presence does present me with opportunity._

Percy remembered who he was talking to. "Grandfather."

 _Ah, the little boy knows of his family. Correct. I tried to kill you while you were an infant so you wouldn't become an obstacle today._

"Oh, well I'm glad you failed."

 _So am I!_ Kronos sounded positively delighted at his plans being foiled. _You've become more powerful than I could possibly have ever dreamed, and you're only going to become stronger from here._

"You make it sounds like that benefits you."

 _Oh, but it does. If I can convince you to join my side, it'll be that much easier to end the corrupt and disgusting rule of my errant children, and their even more errant children._

"Yes, because I'll gladly join the pagan entity who ate his own children and castrated his own father, all for the sake of securing power. I've killed people like you before, and it appears that I'm going to be doing it for years to come."

 _Ah, you may refuse my offer now, Grandson, but there will be so many times in which you question your allegiance to your father, to the gods. There will be times when you reflect on what the world has become, and you will decide that something needs to be done._ I _will be there for you._

Percy raised his brow again. "Allegiance? I bear no allegiance to Poseidon or Zeus or any on Olympus or elsewhere. I obey only _one_ god."

Kronos chuckled. _For now, little boy, for now…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy awoke in the middle of an argument.

"Fetish freak!" was the loud comeback of Annabeth.

"Transsexual scumbag!" was Lou's retort.

Percy blinked, lost at what was going on, and on what transgenderism had to do with anything. Annabeth was confused to, but she turned the situation to her advantage.

"That doesn't even make sense, _diaper girl_. It only goes to show you have all the intelligence of those that are _supposed_ to wear diapers."

"Oh, it's going to make sense here in a second," Lou grinned sinisterly.

She held up her hand, and a sphere of brightly colored dust swirled around her palm. Annabeth's grey eyes widened, Grover's eyes widened, Beckendorf's eyes widened, and Percy's eyes narrowed.

"You had problems peeing behind a tree because you're a girl? Let's fix that, shall we?"

Now it really became clear what Lou Ellen was about to do, and everyone reacted. The blonde dove backward, the satyr sat frozen, the blacksmith lunged forward, and the Assassin jerked the witch's spell-laden palm straight up. Unfortunately, he did that just as Beckendorf arrived, and the resulting angle of direction from the three different forces (Percy's angle, Lou's angle, and Beck's angle) was the son of Poseidon's face.

A flash of light and a small shockwave blinded everyone, and slammed them back against whatever surface there was. When the bright spots cleared from everyone's vision, they saw Percy glaring at Lou...though he looked different.

His face was a few ticks softer, his hair a tad silkier, his body slightly different, his clothes not fitting him as properly as they previously did, and he had a hand around his crotch, and it done so in a way that made it look like...it was a flat area.

"Lou Ellen Williams," his voice was about two and a half octaves higher, "fix this _now_."

"I can't," she squeaked, white as Ezio's robes. "The spell I used doesn't end until 24 hours later."

Percy's eye twitched, and the air was thrumming with terrible, volatile power. It was clear to everyone he was trying valiantly not to explode.

"I was bullied...for my girlish appearance...I was made fun of, both by Clarisse and Alecto, for my girlish appearance...I beat people into a pulp for insulting me...by calling me a girl, girl names, and girl pronouns...I threw myself into vigorous workout after vigorous workout to sculpt my body into a masculine shape...so that my torment would cease...I see now that my endeavors were _wasted_."

Percy spoke slowly, in clear tones, making sure every word was heard, and every word was _felt_. Everyone in the cabin felt like they were in the presence of a threatened predator, one that deciding whether attacking was worth the effort or not, even Grover and Charles, who admittedly had nothing to do with this.

It seemed the predator decided to spare them all this day, because Percy closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and exhaled just as deeply.

"What were you two even arguing about, anyway?"

Neither girl answered, but they did both blush an angry red.

It was Charles that answered, with disappointment heavy in his voice. "They were arguing over you, and who saw you first, because both of them took a liking to you, and they didn't feel like talking it out. Well, let me rephrase: they talked it out just fine, and you woke up for the climax."

Percy's eye twitched, and she slowly panned her smoldering gaze from female to female, before she closed her eyes. "It is with regret, girls, that I inform both of you of your loss in this battle. Due to Ms. William's spell, I am now a girl as well, for the next 24 hours. As I am not gay, even with my gender forcibly swapped, I see nothing in either of you. Except for the utmost contempt."

Percy's eyes opened, and the sheer power behind them had everyone choking on their breath. "All of you: out. _Now_."

The other four members of the quest quickly filed out, leaving Percy to sort herself out in her lonesome.

She felt strange, strange in that she wasn't mad at Annabeth nor Lou for whatever they had said, she wasn't mad that she was the center of a petty argument between preteen girls, and she wasn't mad at Beckendorf or Grover for what they did, or lack thereof, and she wasn't even mad at Lou, per se. She was just mad at this whole situation, this whole great big irony she was caught in.

A childhood that revolved around violently denouncing any affiliation with anything feminine, and here she was now, about as feminine as one could ever get.

Percy sighed slowly. What was done, was done, and this would all be overcome tomorrow. Just keep praying, just keep heading west, just keeping fighting off the monsters, lower the amount of food and water intake, so as to avoid an awkward situation regarding a bathroom, and everything would be fine.

"Everything is not going to be fine," Percy muttered with a dull look at her reflection in the window.

Another thing that vexed her was that her face was hardly any different than just a few minutes ago. Honestly, she looked like her own identical twin, and that was annoying, looking so much like a girl in the first place that there was hardly any difference in facial structure when you were actually a girl.

Percy needed something to distract herself with, and she decided to do that via math. As in time calculation.

It was 1:00 P.M. when the train for Denver departed from St. Louis, and when she woke up from her nap, it was 4:33 P.M. The travel time of the train was seventeen hours and thirty minutes, which meant that out of that time, three and a half hours had passed, which meant there was fourteen hours left to go until arrival in Denver, which put their arrival at about 6:30 in the morning.

That thought helped ease Percy's mind.

Now, Lou had said that this spell would end in 24 hours, which meant that it was going to be after 4:30 before Percy's proper anatomy would return to its proper state, which mean that, after arriving in Denver at about 6:30, it would be eight more hours as a girl.

Percy sighed to herself.

Well, as Lou said in regards to her chronic bedwetting: it could be worse.

Wallowing in self-pity and bemoaning her temporary situation wasn't going to solve anything. 24 hours a girl? Okay; this was a different body, a different weight, a different aerodynamic frame. It wasn't going to move about like her male body, and compensation needed to be made.

While only 24 hours, Percy needed to be in top shape.

She needed to get used to this body before a situation arose.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Annabeth and Lou were facing each other, and Beckendorf was acting as mediator, ready to step in and use his massive size to keep the peace. Grover had his pipes up and ready, in case he needed to play a restraining/calming song.

"You were going to turn me into a boy because of excretory functions? Seriously?"

Lou narrowed her eyes. "No, that was just what I said. You know how Percy's a Christian, right?"

"Of course."

"Christians are historically homophobic, remember? Making you a boy would make any attraction you felt for Percy, or Percy felt for you, gay, and Percy's not gay. With that, I'll have removed you from the equation entirely," Lou finished with a superior smirk.

"Yeah, and now Percy would be eternally hacked with your petty move-and he still might be, considering you turned him into a girl for a day. What do you see in him, anyway? Like you said, he's a Christian, and you're a witch," Annabeth's grey eyes practically glowed with malicious glee, glee at her supposed debilitating blow. "They don't mix."

Lou snorted. "We're also both pagans by his standards, and the Bible also says that, like witches and gays, we're big no-nos...and yet here he is. Not even rejecting us."

Annabeth frowned at her argument being destroyed, so she backtracked and started over from another point. "You still haven't answered my question, witch. What do you see in Percy?"

"The first boy I've ever met in my life that didn't judge me or reject me because I practice magic. The first boy that didn't shy away from me or treat me with caution like I'm a rabid animal ready to snap at them, just because I'm Hecate's daughter. He's the first boy, and person, for that matter, to accept me for all that I am, and tell me there's someone out there that loves me unconditionally. Even my own _dad_ , didn't know what to do with me, besides change my diapers, potty train me, and keep me fed and clothed."

Lou bored down on Annabeth with all the intensity of planet-sized comet.

"I've actually had conversations with him, and have gotten to know him. What have you done with him, besides get your face smashed in when you woke him up, and almost lose his Bible?"

Annabeth's hyper intelligent brain failed her.

"That's what I thought."

The daughter of Athena wasn't beaten yet.

"At least I didn't turn him into a freaking _girl_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was something wrong here, something more wrong than the gap between her legs.

Percy had climbed to the top of the speeding train, entered Eagle Vision, and launched into a training session straight outta Yancy's gym, one against numerous individuals of a ghostly nature. Percy expected to be clumsy, uncoordinated, too fast in this lighter, female body. She expected to be throwing herself about due to putting too much force into a swing or a kick.

Percy's expectations couldn't be further from the truth.

Her movements were fluid and graceful, practiced and experienced. They were the movements of someone well-versed in combat, someone who had been doing this for years on end, which she had, but as a male. A stocky body, packed with muscle, built for delivering short, quick, brutal strikes, a far cry from this female frame, one built for grace, elegance, and flowing motion.

While going from his 5'3 frame of 120 pounds of muscle to this female 5'3 frame of 110 pounds of muscle wasn't too much of a terrible difference, it was still the same as a zebra becoming a horse, a dog becoming a wolf, or a gorilla becoming an orangutan. It was the sheer, fundamental, sudden anatomical difference that bore the confusion and foreign movement, but for Percy?

It was like she had been this way her whole life.

…

Percy stared at the rapidly moving landscape, painted in the oranges and reds of the sunset, lost in thought. In her dream, before this temporary nightmare began, her grandfather had said she had two-sixths of a soul, which explained her previous hopeless disposition before receiving Faris' and Vergil's fragment. Two-sixths, though...two lives, two-sixths, which meant it stood to reason that there were four more lives left to go before her entire soul was one piece again.

Most likely, the reason for this feeling of ease and borderline _comfort_ in this temporary body, was because Percy had been a woman in a previous life.

...great.

Terrific. Brilliant.

Granted, that was just a theory, one that involved several branches coming from so many different avenues, one that invoked so many questions.

For instance, why was her soul not complete? Why did she keep remembering past lives? Why was her soul coming back in pieces? What did Kronos have to do with anything? Why did he try to kill her? Who was 'they'? Why did he want her allegiance?

Percy sighed in great frustration at the lack of feasible answers.

She used to have an entire spy network, one that spanned a hemisphere, that provided her with daily updates about everything going on in the world at any given moment. She had been informed of everything going on, worth knowing about. Nothing had been unknown.

Percy missed her spy network, she wished she still had it; however, still having her spy network would mean still having the Templars around, and if not having her spy network meant no Templars, then Percy would be fine with that arrangement.

Granted, the Oracle's 'prophecy' heavily hinted that both Orders were still alive.

If that were the case, Percy wondered what they were like today. Who was winning, what had changed, whose teachings were being taught, whose impacts were the most remembered? Had the Assassins been corrupted, and now they were the bad guys? Had the Templars changed their philosophy and ways? Were they both minute factions in the grand scheme of the world, or were they major players? Were they both major players, or was only one of them? If so, which one? Were the Assassins on top of everything, or were the Templars?

…

...once again: _spy network_.

Percy calmed her racing thoughts by remembering the phrase 'all things come to he who waits.'

The answers would be revealed in time, and when they were, the appropriate actions would be taken. Of course, it was going to be seriously entertaining/amusing/interesting to run into the Assassins again, having all the knowledge and wisdom and experience of Faris and Vergil.

Maybe she would go through of trouble of trying to convince them of her past lives, maybe not. Maybe she would be content with that playing that mysterious leader role; heh, a child leading an international shadow army, sounded like something out of a book. Granted, a boy being turned into a girl via accidental magic via a bedwetting witch was also something that sounded impossible, yet here Percy stood.

So everything was a possibility.

For now, the Assassin just needed to remain calm, watch her food intake, watch her liquid intake, read her Bible, and pray that she wouldn't have a period within the next 23 hours. She had once been married, and she had raised daughters. She had a firm grasp on the wonder of the female body, and she was in no hurry to experience any of them.

With that, Percy returned to the back of the passenger train, and reentered the cars.

She still wasn't about to talk to Lou and Annabeth, though; she was still mad at them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

True to Percy's calculations, the train arrived in Denver at exactly 6:30 in the morning, on the dot.

The quest filed out of the train with a tense atmosphere about them. Well, Percy was just fine, everyone else was tense and waiting for an explosion. Lou Ellen found her voice first.

"Percy, I-"

"Don't say anything."

Annabeth's face broke into a snide grin, her ADHD getting the better of her. "Yeah, Lou-"

" _Either_ of you."

Conversation died right then and there, and didn't pick back up again until the train station was cleared, and Beckendorf had a suggestion.

"Uh, Percy…?" when he wasn't snapped at, he continued. "Maybe it would be a good idea to get a hold of Chiron, inform him of our progress, check in on Camp, you know? Just a thought," he finished quickly.

"Mmm," Percy hummed.

There were merits to this idea, and they were making great time, but the downside was that she would be talking to Chiron as a girl, and that was something Percy wanted to avoid for the sole point of her pride. Then again...would Chiron even notice?

"How do you propose we contact Chiron? If memory serves, cellphones are something we cannot use."

"Nope," Beck agreed. "But we can use Iris-Messages."

"...what?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So you need a rainbow, a drachma, a name, and a location?"

"More or less."

"Let's get started."

The son of Hephaestus put in the quarters, sprayed the water across the path of the morning sun, creating a rainbow, and threw in a drachma. "O, goddess, accept this offering. Chiron, Camp Half-Blood."

The image in the rainbow shimmered, before showing Chiron in the middle of...something.

"Travis! Disarm those diarrhea traps now! Clarisse, put down that pitchfork! Katie, I swear if you don't stop strangling those children with those vines right now, I'm going spray weed killer all over your garden! Franco, _muovi il culo_!"

"Chiron!" Percy cried, somewhat aghast at the centaur's language.

The old teacher's head snapped towards the Iris Message. "What-!? Oh, Perseus, my apologies. Things have become a little hectic here in the wake of the Zeus-Poseidon stand-off going on in the world right now."

"I can hear that. Anyway, Beckendorf wanted to check in and let you know that we're mostly okay, in Denver, and still heading to Los Angeles."

"Excellent to hear, my old friend. Also, is that a lion's pelt?"

" _Si_. The Nemean Lion's, actually."

Chiron wheezed.

"I also have Medusa's Head stored away in the Minotaur's horns, and I killed the Chimera on the Gateway Arch, as well as fought off Echidna. We also encountered the Furies on the bus out of Manhattan."

Chiron was equal parts awed and pale. "Perseus, you've killed the Minotaur...Medusa...Alecto, twice...the other Furies... _the_ Chimera...and you've fought off a _god_. My boy, you're not even halfway through with this quest, and you've done more than enough to be written down as a Greek hero."

Percy said, "The Lord is with us," but the words were drowned out by the obnoxiously loud boom box of the Lincoln Continental that pulled into the other car washing station.

Chiron's and Percy's faces reflected the pain that stemmed from their superior hearing being assaulted by such massive decibels.

"I've got it!" Lou and Annabeth both yelled at once. Beckendorf paled and quickly handed the nozzle to Percy, chasing after the girls, and Grover panicked, giving chase himself, which left Percy alone with the misty face of Chiron.

"Hey! Do I look different to you!?"

Her words were heard, because Chiron's gaze turned scrutinizing and searching. Apparently, and dishearteningly, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, because his face set itself back to how it usually was.

"No! Did something happen!?"

The Lincoln's music promptly shut off.

"Yes, Lou, Annabeth, Charles, and Grover managed to do something about the nuisance next door. Hopefully nothing fatal."

"Yes, hopefully nothing-children! Cut that out right _now_ , or I swear I'm going to-!"

"Until next time, Chiron."

The spray ended as the car wash's timer ran out.

Percy was only a little hurt by the fact that the centaur couldn't recognize that she was now a girl, but her slight emotional pain was quickly dashed when Lou Ellen came around the corner, a Siberian Husky puppy held in her crossed arms. The little thing yipped and squeaked when it saw Percy.

"Lou, if that's Annabeth…"

"I'm right here, Seaweed Brain." The blonde came around the opposite corner, Grover in tow, Beckendorf coming up behind Lou Ellen.

"If you ever call me that again, I'll perform an on-sight mastectomy."

Annabeth paled.

Percy looked back at the witch. "The puppy?"

"Used to be the guy driving the Lincoln and playing his music too loud."

"So you turned him into a puppy."

"Well, he was part of a local gang, and wanted to kill Beck and Grover, and kidnap me and Annabeth, rape us, pimp us out, before selling us for five hundred grand a piece. I was going to turn him into a diaper and sneak it into the nearest daycare, but I think a new life as my puppy is a better alternative. Say hello to Kira!"

The puppy yipped and wagged...her (Percy just noticed) tail excitedly.

"Kira?" the Assassin deadpanned. "That's Japanese for 'killer.'"

"Yep, and isn't it just the bestest name in the whole wide world for this widdle gewl?" Lou Ellen gushed, nuzzling her puppy's head. Kira licked her new master's cheek with gusto.

Percy's eyes rolled into the back of her head as her eyelids fluttered shut. She straightened, exhaled, and then opened her eyes again. "You're keeping up with her, and are wholly responsible for her. Anything happens to her, and it's on you. Clear?"

Those were the exact same words Vergil used on Maria when she came running home one day with her own puppy.

Lou bobbed her head. "Got it!"

Kira barked once, also nodding her head.

"Perfect. I'm hungry, and it's breakfast time. I believe there's a diner over there."

Indeed, there was a diner, and while the waitress was skeptical of a bunch of dirty tweens, especially the one in the fancily cut leather trench coat, an introduction to Benjamin Franklin fixed the problem real fast. Old Benjie even solved the problem of having a dog inside the diner.

Conversation was kept to a minimal, as Percy still wasn't allowing Lou and Annabeth to talk to her, and the tense atmosphere between the girls kept Beckendorf and Grover from saying anything either. Even Kira picked up on the mood, and kept from yapping or yipping.

Breakfast almost seemed like it was going to go off without a hitch, until the motorcycle pulled up, and its rider nearly shoved the doors clean off the hinges. Percy didn't need Eagle Vision to know who this god was. Her intense displeasure with him was enough to clue her in.

Despite how good he had been at it, Vergil _hated_ war.

And Percy hated War, too.

"Ares," she greeted tersely.

"Well, if it ain't my gender confused little cousin. Tell me, cuz...you fingered yourself yet?"

Percy could feel it, the desire to lash out, yell explicatives, hurt people, maim people, _kill_ people. Flashes of brutality skittered across her mind's eye, flashes of the worst moments Faris and Vergil had. She could also tell that Beck, Grover, Lou, Annabeth, and even little Kira were experiencing the same desires for violence, just by the furious looks that crossed their faces, all directed at Ares, all because of the war god's question.

In another life, perhaps Percy immediately stabbed Ares in the throat with her Hidden Blade, but not this one. Instead, she prayed for guidance and calmness, protection and serenity. Immediately, like water being poured down her body, she felt the negativity of Ares' influence leave her, replaced with the level head she usually had.

"No, cousin, I have not masturbated."

"That's cool. I have a girlfriend that does that for me, makes sense you would wait for a your own significant other to come along and scratch that itch, but anyway. As I understand it, you guys need a way west to Ol' Corpse Breath's palace."

"It almost sounds like you're offering something."

"Yep. I'm offering you a ride," Ares grinned.

"And what do you want in return?"

"Ooh, aren't you the clever little virgin. If I wasn't bangin' that sexy beast Aphrodite, I'd take you for a ride and plow you into next year."

Percy managed a smile, though she felt sick. "Glad I could impress you, my lord."

Ares looked a little _too_ pleased at being called 'lord.' "Right, there's a nearby waterpark, a mile west on Delancey. My girlfriend and I were in the middle of a date, but we were interrupted. Left my shield behind. Go there, look for the Tunnel of Love ride, and bring me my shield back. Do a good job, and I'll arrange a ride west for you, your lesbian girlfriends, your goat, and your plumber."

"Thank you for your generous offer, cousin, but I'm afraid breakfast is here."

"Here you kids go~," the waitress said happily, enticed by the promise of money, as she set down the massive tray of breakfast orders.

Ares wasn't too pleased with being blown off, and with a snap of his fingers, the food and the waitress erupted into ash. No one seemed to notice, besides the half-bloods and Kira. Everyone but Percy gaped in horror at what the war god just did. The Assassin was still smiling at her cousin, but now there was a dark gleam in her eye.

"Now that was rather rude."

"No, what's rude is being swept to the side like trash. Here I am, going out of my way to help y'all out, and you're more worried about food. Now I'm offended. It was going to be a simple arrangement: get my shield, and I'll get you a ride, but now I'm thinking I want something extra for this grievous show of disrespect."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. I'll come up with something when my shield is back in my hands, which I suggest you get started on, before I lose my temper."

"Yes, a pagan losing their temper would be _such_ a tragedy." Percy slid out of her seat, brushing past Ares. "Come along, gang. We have a quick errand to run."

Everyone nervously filed out of the booth and past the displeased god of war. As Charles past Ares, his arm was grabbed. _Tightly_.

"This one stays here. Think of it as my giving you a better challenge. Get out of here before I make you go alone."

After a lingering, smoldering look over her shoulder, Percy exited the diner, a nervous and apprehensive Annabeth, Lou Ellen, Kira, and Grover in tow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the pace Percy set, it was only a ten minute walk to the abandoned water park. The Assassin frowned at the barbed wire, as did everyone else, but after a quick casing of the property, they discovered that someone had previously cut a hole in the fence, and they promptly used that as their entry point. Much less hassle than trying to climb over the barbed wire.

A burst of Eagle Vision saw the target ride glowing a brilliant gold, and Percy headed in that direction, not addressing any of the inquiries aimed at her from her allies. The empty pool was surrounded by cupid statues, all of which were glowing an angry red under the power of Eagle Vision, with glowing white triangles being found on the bases of each statue. Down in the middle of the pool was one of the two-seater boats, a canopy over it with a pink heart motif.

In the passenger seat was the scarf, and in the driver's seat was the shield.

Percy failed to break stride when she got to the lip of the bowl, and she descended with textbook grace, landing on her feet with barely a bend in her legs. She practically stormed up to the boat, wholly ignored the scarf, but then _froze_ when she got a closer look at the shield.

Decades of being an Assassin had taught her how to spot traps and tripwires, and there, binding the shield to the dashboard, posing as an effective cobweb, was a kind of tripwire. What it tripped was a mystery, but Percy could feel all the water in the surrounding pipes. Short of this boat exploding in her face, she could handle anything.

And she was wearing the Nemean Lion's pelt (in the form of an awesome trench coat). Even an explosion might not be enough to damage her.

Considering just how hacked she was with Ares and his comments, Percy completely forwent caution, and ripped the shield away from its resting. She was bolting across the pit, shield strapped to her back, just as all the machines whirred and hummed. The cupids shot their arrows across the pit, golden wire trailing behind the projectiles.

"Percy!" two voices cried out.

The Assassin skid to a halt. "What are you two doing!?"

Lou and Annabeth had jumped down into the pit, leaving a panicking Grover and frantically barking Kira above the...net. Brilliant, they were all trapped underneath a net designed to capture gods.

"Helping you, duh!" Annabeth said.

"I would've made it, had you not distracted me! Now you're trapped down here too!" Percy rounded on Lou. "Do you at least have something that can teleport us out of this, or unravel the threads?"

"Nothing powerful enough to affect this level of celestial bronze. This stuff can resist an _Olympian_."

A mechanical voice boomed over the sounds of whirring and weaving, _Live to Olympus in fifty-nine...fifty-eight…_

Percy had an ADHD moment. "Why would Hephaestus give them that much time to form an escape plan…?" she muttered.

Then the mirrors slid open, and a swarm of mechanical spiders poured out. Annabeth screamed and fell to her butt, where she proceeded to scurry backwards with terror-filled fervor.

"Great!" Lou said. "She broke!"

"She wouldn't have broken had the both of you _been up there_!"

"Well, sorry for trying to help you out!"

"I had everything under control!"

The girls were in each other's faces, easily within kissing distance, but that wasn't important.

 _Thirty-seven... thirty-six...thirty-five…_

"Oh, forget this. Get on the boat and grab Annabeth."

"Eww! She peed herself!"

"She's arachnophobic and surrounded by spiders, and you're wearing a diaper. Suck it up and get on before I leave the both of you to become reality TV stars!"

Grumbling, Lou did as she was told. "What are you going to do?"

"Bust some pipes."

Percy focused on the water around here, and she called to it with unrelenting authority. It responded to her will without question. The pipes exploded as a few hundred gallons of water came pouring out of them. The flood drowned the spiders and lifted the boat off the ground. While Lou and Annabeth screamed, Percy held tightly to their hands, a determined look on her face as the she commanded the water to send them hurling down the Tunnel O'Love Ride.

They rounded a corner, the corner of the last stretch, and at the end of the ride was the rest of the boats, all piled up into a heap of impact death. Annabeth was still screaming, her eyes shut tight, no doubt traumatized by the spiders, and Lou was screaming because of the sheer chaos of the situation. They wouldn't be helpful here.

Percy's gut felt like it ruptured when she jerked her head up, commanding the water to surge upward in a ramp. This maneuver took so much out of Percy, that she didn't have any more strength to control the water to where it could make something of a soft landing. All she could do was hold on tightly to the screaming girls in her arms.

With the amount of force that she had when she impacted the concrete ground, she should've splattered, even with her demigod physiology. However, there were times when Vergil and Faris had leapt from the tops of buildings and landed on the ground, in full armor and equipped with a small armory, without dying, due to their bodies being much different than that of normal humans, and that kind of durability was present in Percy as well.

Probably had something to do with her mother's genes….

That, and she was wearing the Nemean Lion's pelt, and had Ares' shield on her back. Still, even with all that durability, Percy's back cracked, and she lost her wind. Never mind the cold pain in her gut, like ice water was pouring out of an internal wound.

Water sloshed over the boats, drenching Lou and Annabeth even more than what they were, and the water did its thing on Percy. Her gasping ended as her diaphragm relaxed, and her spine and ribs were mended instantly. However, the cold in her gut remained, a reminder of the limits of her power. Redirecting so much momentum, altering nature in such a way...it was painful.

With a sharp gasp, the Assassin staggered to her feet, and she hauled the witch and the blonde to theirs as well. She willed all of them dry, draining the water out of all their clothes and underwear. This also had the effect of draining away all of the dirt and grime as well, cleaning them in a way no amount of soap could hope to match.

Annabeth stared at the ground, blushing. "I wet myself…"

"Accidents happen," Percy said bluntly. "You're dry now, so get over it. Come on, Beck's still at the diner."

"Percy, I-"

"You keep quiet. It's about ten right now, so in six and a half hours, I'll start talking to you again. That goes for you too, Annabeth. So both of you: shut up."

"Percy!" Grover cried, Kira running alongside him. "Thank the gods you're alright!"

"The gods...wait a second." Percy saw a cupid, still with its camera trained on her. "Show's over! Good night!"

The cupid shut down and became a statue again.

"Now then: a ride west."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Olympus_

"That was...something," Athena stated.

"Yeah, your kid peed all over herself," Apollo snarked.

He was met with a withering grey glare. "And how many times have your _numerous_ offspring urinated upon themselves, dear brother? If you do not watch your tongue, your children may find those instances...drastically increasing."

"Hey! Stay away from my kids!"

While Athena and Apollo began to bicker, Hera leaned over to Poseidon, "I thought you had a son."

The sea god was just as confused as she was. "I thought I did too…"

Meanwhile, Artemis did a good job keeping her skin its usual color. That entire event had just been broadcast on Hephaestus TV, and her Hunters frequently tuned in to watch that channel, if only to watch the escapades of some unfortunate boy. Every Hunter before the French Revolution knew the face of Percy Jackson...especially Zoё.

This was going to be an awkward day.

The Olympians present flashed out as the broadcast ended, each to do their own thing. A shame none of their things included continued watching of the quest, for they were now going to be ignorant of the horrors of Ares.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

10:30 was the time of the quest's arrival at the diner, and it was clear that something was wrong with Percy. She kept holding her gut and sucking air in through her teeth, and her gait was off, very off, but any attempts at trying to find out what was wrong were waved away, once at knifepoint.

Ares was leaning on his Harley, cleaning his nails with his knife. Beckendorf was leaning against the nearby handicap pole. He looked displeased, glaring at Ares, but he was otherwise unharmed, at least from this distance. Getting closer revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but when it came to gods, one could never be too sure.

Percy removed the shield from her back, and threw it at the war god, who caught it, spun it in the air like a pizza dough, and caught it in its new form: a bulletproof vest, which he promptly slung over his back.

"Thanks, kid. Now, if you hadn't insulted me earlier, I would've had your ride all ready to go, but I'm going to need a little extra on the side for our deal to be complete."

"What do you want?"

Ares held out his hand, and suddenly Percy couldn't move. Then she was jerked forward and into the grasp of the war god. He pulled her dangerously close, close enough to where she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of dead bodies and blood.

Ares' eyes glowed behind his sunglasses. "I want many things," he said huskily, haughtily, "endless war, Aphrodite, respect, _you_...but for now...I'll settle for a kiss."

Percy's lips were roughly violated by the god of war, his slimy tongue raping her mouth, his calloused hands groping her body. Her rear was squeezed tightly, as was her chest, and she was rammed into Ares, who began grinding his groin against her. She could feel his bulge, taste his mouth in her own, see in the reflection of the glass that her allies had been frozen in place, all of them panicked and freaking out, and she still couldn't move.

Ares left her mouth soon enough, not even bothering to wipe away the strands of saliva that trailed from his lips and connected to Percy's. Her face was stuck as it was, otherwise, she surely would have been screaming. The pig was not done, for he then attacked Percy's neck, biting and breaking skin, and then he proceeded to suck.

Ares' collar was grabbed, and he was violently thrown away. The power he held over Percy and the others vanished, and where the Assassin collapsed to her wobbling knees, a hand shooting up to the bleeding spot on her neck, the half-bloods ran to her side, all scared out of their wits.

Ares shot to his feet, furious. "Who dares-!?"

A man in a robe stared at the pagan, and he did. Not. Look.

 _Happy._

Ares gulped. "Y-You…" then he flashed away, his motorcycle disappearing with him.

"Coward," the robed man scoffed. The he turned his attention to his children.

"Move aside," he said softly, and he was obeyed. "Percy? Percy, look at me."

From on her knees, her hollow, empty, terrified, tear-stricken eyes met his soft ones. She buried her face into the folds on his robes, sobbing.

"Shh, my child, shh." he rubbed small circles around the small of the Assassin's back. Her sobs subsided after a time, and when she pulled back, the demigods and satyr noticed something: her body filled out her clothes better, her face had lost its softness, her hair its silkiness, and then they realized: Lou's spell had been undone.

Percy was a boy again.

The man gently used his thumbs to wipe away the tears on Percy's face, and the Greeks noticed that Ares' bite was gone from his neck.

"You're doing wonderfully, my child, wonderfully. Do not lose hope, and never lose your faith, Percy. Remember that I am always with you."

The quest heard the airbrakes of a semi-truck, and turned to see the appropriate vehicle. On the side, in a script that their dyslexia allowed them to read, it said: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

"That will you take to your next destination."

The quest looked back at the man in the robe, then back at the truck to make sure they were looking at the same one, then back to the robed man. He was gone. In his place was a blue nylon bag. The lock to the back door of the truck undid itself with an audible cling.

Four of them just stood there, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The fifth rose to his feet, and walked to the truck. Before he climbed in, he said, "Well? Are you coming?"

The rest of the quest joined Percy in the back of the zoo transport.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Artemis flashed to her camp, she immediately knew her fear had come true. All eyes were on her, except for one set, for the owner of those eyes was in her tent. Artemis headed there, dreading the coming conversation.

Before she entered her tent, the moon goddess heard Lucy say, "You're in trouble."

At the look her lieutenant gave her when the tent flap closed, Artemis wholeheartedly agreed with the four thousand year old demigoddess.

She was in _deep_ trouble with the daughter of Atlas.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **So, gender bender spell...yeah, that was just me continuing my running gag, although it will have a much bigger impact when the**_ **Titan's Curse** _ **arc happens, which involves the**_ **Fourth Life** _ **arc, which involves the French Revolution. Things will get fun, with potential lemons, guns, and dead people.**_

 _ **Lots of dead people.**_

 _ **And how about Ares, yeah? Little shit's gonna get it here at the end of the quest on that beach; he's gonna get it good, and it's gonna be great.**_

 _ **We also have a budding love triangle between Percy, Lou Ellen, and Annabeth, with Zoё Nightshade being something…important…in a past life. Whatever could she have been? Whatever could have happened during the Fourth Life?**_

 _ **In other news, we're writing essays in English class, and all I can think is**_ **'I am surrounded by idiots.'** _ **Uncultured swine, the lot of them. Too worried about fake ID's, parties, alcohol, sex and skipping school.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	24. Demigod's Darkness

**_I just noticed we hit 500 reviews two chapters ago. Great job guys! Over halfway to the big One Triple-0!_**

 ** _Now we just need to get_** **Green-Eyed Ghoul** ** _on the five hundred train, and everything will be fine and dandy._**

 ** _This will be a darker chapter, involving a fight scene that'll display the physical strength difference between a demigod and a human in a brutal fashion._**

 ** _Let's just say that Percy isn't happy this chapter._**

 ** _Disclaimer:_** I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was painfully obvious to Percy that this was not, in fact, a humane zoo transport. The animals were borderline anorexic, their food bowls were wrong, and the three men in the front seat were all glowing a terrible red.

Percy was silent, and the air around him was cold and frigid. He wanted to be alone, and he made that obvious by putting his back to the rest of them. He was using the bronze light of Riptide to provide illumination for his Bible reading.

When they heard his stomach growling, everyone suddenly remembered something, a couple somethings, actually. One, Percy hadn't slept since yesterday, as he had covered the entire night shift by himself, and two, he also hadn't been able to fill his stomach. Combined with the stress of the...previous episode, and his fatigue and hunger, it was no wonder that Percy had curled in on himself.

No one was stupid enough to ask if he was okay, because he was clearly _not_ okay. And no one knew how to approach him, and get him to talk about it. Everyone was of the same mind that simply asking 'do you want to talk about it,' would be met with a steely and icy 'no.'

Kira the husky puppy wriggled out of Lou's arms, and scampered over to Percy.

Annabeth, Lou, Grover, and Beckendorf watched with baited breath as the puppy attempted to do something. She nudged Percy's side, and was promptly ignored. She raised up and placed her paws on him for support, and began panting, her little tail wagging excitedly; she was ignored still. Letting out a frustrated and despondent whine, Kira squirmed under Percy's arm, and tried to invade his field of vision.

The puppy squeaked when the sword was dropped and she was grabbed and thrown over the shoulder, where she was caught by a panicked Lou Ellen, who rounded on the Assassin, angry at him for the mistreatment of her dog.

"Hey! I get that you're stressed right now, but that doesn't mean you can take it out on my puppy!"

Percy looked at her over his shoulder. Only a single, frigid eye was visible, as the light from Riptide came from the ground. "My mouth was raped," he said in a dead voice. "Ares tried to give me a hickey, biting through my skin. And you turned me into a girl. Shut. Up."

Effectively cowed but no less upset, Lou settled back against the side of the truck next to Annabeth.

"Percy," Beckendorf tried, quietly yet firmly. "You need to rest. You've been up since before this time yesterday, and you haven't eaten at all."

"I'm. Fine."

"No. You're not. You're snappish, irritated, tired, hungry, and probably traumatized. If you're not going take a nap, then you at least need to talk about it. It's not good to keep that stuff bottled up like that."

" _I am fine."_

Lou's frustration boiled over. "Alright mister! _Og ot peels_!"

She put more power into his spell than she had in any other before it. Partly because she was frustrated with Percy's assault on her puppy, but mostly because she needed to make sure it worked. The blast hit him square in the back, and he immediately slumped over.

Annabeth looked at Lou. "While needed, that was a little extreme."

"Yeah, Lou." Beckendorf frowned. "That was cold."

"Oh, shut up. You both agree with me anyway."

A three-way bicker began between the blacksmith, blonde, and witch, but the satyr said something that shut all of them up.

"What'd you say, Grover?" Annabeth asked.

"He was terrified," Grover whispered.

He was pale, his knees to his chest, held there by his arms, his eyes were haunted, and he looked to be shivering. In the near-darkness of the truck, it was hard to tell if he was moving or not.

"I'm a satyr, and we can read emotions better than anyone. When Ares assaulted Percy...he was terrified. He was helpless, unable to move or make a sound, unable to do anything as Ares violated him."

Grover's eyes swiveled about to meet everyone's gazes.

"Can you imagine feeling that powerless? Feeling someone have absolute, total control over you? Percy is proud, very proud, and really, really strong, too. Having all that stripped away from him...wouldn't all of you be terrified of something like that happening to you?"

Grover looked at Lou Ellen and Annabeth. "Tell me: as girls, not demigods, or daughters of Hecate and Athena, but as girls...what's your biggest fear?"

The demigoddesses shared a lasting look, before looking back at Grover.

"Being raped," they said in tandem.

The satyr nodded his head. "You think that was any different for Percy? You turned him into a girl, emotionally, mentally, and physically, it was only that his personality remained that things weren't any more awkward and strange than what they already were, but still….

"When Ares said that he only wanted a kiss? Yeah, he meant that for about two seconds before his primal side took over. You all saw what happened, with the tongue, and the groping, and the bite. Ares was going to do that all over Percy's body, before ripping her pants away and... _taking_ her right in front of us. And Percy knew that, too."

Suddenly, the full gravity of what transpired settled on the shoulders of the demigods.

"All of us, unable to move, Percy, also unable to move, all of us at the mercy of a rapist god...if that man in the robe hadn't shown up…" Grover trailed.

"Who was that, anyway?" Annabeth asked quietly, pale as a sheet.

"We all know who that was," Beckendorf said. "Just goes to show that where the Greek gods are real, other pantheons and mythologies are real, too. They're just out there, doing their own thing."

"I think calling one of the biggest religions on the planet a pantheon or a mythology is a bit of an insult," Lou said in a weakly upbeat tone, trying to crack something of a joke.

Her intentions were felt and received with positive reactions, as small smiles were abound. Kira yapped quietly, wagging her tail.

"Yeah...so, when you want to give Percy crap about his sour attitude, remember what he just went through, and what he might have gone through, on top of him running off of zero hours of sleep and an empty stomach," Grover said.

Silence fell over the truck, broken by the occasional sound from an animal or the rattling of the trailer. The satyr eventually decided to lean over and take a nap, and the blacksmith decided to follow suite. They were both steadily breathing within a minute, leaving Lou Ellen and Annabeth as the only ones still awake. Kira had also decided to catch some Z's, and the Husky puppy was snoring in the witch's lap.

What an adorable little fluffball.

"It smells like poop in here," Annabeth commented offhandedly, her ADHD-ridden mind prompting some kind of response to the stimuli of boredom. Then she realized what she said and snapped her gaze to Lou. "You didn't…?"

The witch snorted. "If I had done that, I would have already changed. Besides, we are surrounded by animals, and animals poop too."

"Right," Annabeth's face was a little flushed in embarrassment at her lack of spacial awareness. "Sorry."

"Eh, don't be. I am wearing a diaper after all, it's only right to question a fecal-related smell when you're next to me."

"Were you...were you telling the truth about that? That you just wear them on long trips to avoid a filthy bathroom?"

"...partly," Lou said cautiously.

"Partly?"

The daughter of Hecate sighed. She looked at Annabeth, dead in the eye. "You like Percy, don't you? Like, as in _like_ like him?"

Annabeth's face shifted as she weighed her answer, then it set, and she said, "Yes. I _like_ like him."

"Well, as rivals in the war of love," Lou cracked a grin at how cheesy that sounded, as did Annabeth, "I think it's only fair that we know each other.

"My name is Lou Ellen, and I'm the most powerful child of Hecate in over a thousand years, even stronger than my sister, Celyn, in the Hunters of Artemis. Because of my extreme affinity for magic, my mother had to take something from, as the Ancient Laws supposedly bind her to the Principle of Equal Exchange. Now, what Mom could have taken from me could have been a lot worse, what she did take from me sucks to no end."

"What did she take?"

"My nocturnal urinary control."

Annabeth blinked. "Nocturnal urinary...you're a bedwetter. You wear diapers at night so you don't wet the bed."

"Bingo. Like I said, Mom could have taken something much worse, like my eyes, or my ears, or a couple of chromosomes, or some limbs or a few bones, but still. Life-long bedwetter. That sucks. Anyway, because of my extreme magical affinity, I also get visions about people. Visions about their past, what they're doing now, and sometimes even their future."

Annabeth caught on instantly. "So, you've seen my life."

"Yeah. Frederick Chase, Randolph Chase, Natalie Chase, Magnus Chase, a step mother, idiot step brothers, ran away at seven, spider attacks in the night, a cyclops, Luke and Thalia, being chased, the Furies, and a pine tree. When it comes to the important stuff, I know it."

"Oh."

"Hey, don't be offended, I can't control it, nor can I help what I see. Blame my mom, because I got this from her."

"...fair enough. You know about me, but what about you?"

"My dad didn't exactly know how to raise me, beyond basic childcare, and he did put me in diapers for any road trips we went on, either because we were going to see far away family, were moving, or were going on vacation somewhere, because roadside bathrooms and public bathrooms period are nasty, filthy, and invite unsavory individuals.

"Anyway, I was at public school, and a rogue manticore attacked me, being attracted to my scent. I freaked out, and my magic freaked out, and I killed the manticore, and blew up half my school. I try not to remember the people I may or may not have killed. After that, Dad decided it was time try that summer camp thing he heard about in a letter he received about a week before the attack, and that's how I got to Camp Half-Blood.

"So, to recap, I have extreme amounts of magical power, I see visions of people's lives, my dad put me in diapers to avoid bathrooms, I'm a permanent bedwetter, I killed a manticore when I was nine, I blew up half my school, potentially killing a few dozen kids, and then I was basically ostracized by everyone when I arrived at Camp Half-Blood."

"And now the two of us are competing for the attention of a Christian demigod son of Poseidon."

"Yep, may the best girl win."

"Yeah…"

Silence returned, but Lou looked at the blonde. "Annabeth, I've already told you what I see in Percy, and how I feel about him, and why I feel that way, but what about you?"

Yes, the daughter of Athena recalled their argument on the train, after Percy's gender transformation, and Lou's innermost feelings for the boy were revealed. Honestly, Annabeth didn't know why she felt what she did for Percy.

"I don't know, really. I mean, yes, he is cute-handsome, I suppose-and his body is well-maintained, and well-sculpted, and he's smart, really smart. Yesterday, when we were leaving and you ran up to us with that newspaper, Percy had been discussing with me and Beck about we, as in demigods, were not the same gender as our biological parents, since our godly parents don't pass on DNA."

"...I'm a little lost."

"Okay, so you know how gods don't have DNA, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if that's the case, then the only genetic material in us comes from our mortal parents, right? Like, if your godly parent is a god, and your mortal parent is a woman, then the only genetic material you have comes from your mother, which should you make you a girl, right?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Yeah, but here comes the kicker: Percy's only genetic material comes from his mom, meaning he should only have an XX chromosome, but he's a boy."

Lou's face fixed itself in the way of one who just now got the whole point of something. "So, basically, since my genetic material is only coming from my dad, I should be a boy."

"Exactly. Percy's theory is that our gender is determined by the thoughts of our divine parents during intercourse. Like Hermes wants a son, so that's what the child is born as, or Hephaestus wants a daughter, and that's what his next child is born as. The biggest support for Percy's theory is me and my siblings, since we come directly from our mother's head."

"Huh. That is smart."

"Yeah...what were we talking about again?"

"What you saw in Percy. You said he was hot and smart, and then launched into the Gender Determination Theory."

"Oh, right...yeah. He's calm, has a level head on his shoulders, can handle himself in just about any situation, and he has that... _charisma_. That air around him that just makes you want to follow and be with him. And his unwavering devotion to the faith, even when surrounded by pagans and false gods, it's...it's...there's something _powerful_ about."

"Yeah," Lou said distantly. "I know what you mean."

"You know, now that I say all that, and compare it to how you feel about him...I realize that I don't stand a chance. You've got me beat, Lou Ellen."

The witch closed her eyes and smiled sardonically as she recalled a brutal truth. "No, you're wrong."

"Huh?"

"We _both_ don't stand a chance. Remember what I said about being able to see a person's past?"

"Yeah…you've seen Percy's, haven't you? What, does he have a girlfriend from before he entered the mythological world?" Annabeth sounded just a _little_ despondent.

"Something like that...look, it's not really my place to say, but...since I know you'll just hound me relentlessly until I give you something to work with...I trust you know about reincarnation?"

"Of course,. That's how you get into the Isles of the Blest." Suddenly it dawned on Annabeth. "Percy's a reincarnate soul, isn't he?"

"Yes." Though it was much more complicated than that, Lou felt she had already said too much as it is, and keeping things simple was an endeavor she would gladly partake in at this point. "I've seen some of his past life and…"

"He met someone, didn't he? Someone who's still alive today. A god, or a goddess, and if he sees them again, then it's probable that he'll want to be with them instead of one of us."

"More or less. But replace those deities with the lieutenant of a deity, and you'll get Percy's past love."

Annabeth put a hand to her chin, and looked at her feet, deep in thought. "The lieutenant of a deity...lieutenant of a deity...but," she was starting to piece it together, "the only deity I can think of that would have need of something like a lieutenant is Artemis, and that's because she has a Hunt, and her Hunt has a lieutenant, and her lieutenant is- _no_."

The daughter of Athena looked like she had just been shot.

" _Her_? _She_ fell in love with a _boy_?"

"Let's just say that Percy wasn't always a boy, but yeah. While the odds of them meeting again are slim, if they _do_ meet, however…"

" _Her_ of all people, though," Annabeth breathed. "Wow…"

"Yeah…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Much earlier_

Zoё Nightshade was not happy, and Artemis could feel it in the atmosphere.

"You didn't tell me she reincarnated," the Huntress said lowly, darkly.

"No, I did not."

A snarl crossed Zoё's beautiful face, but she quickly schooled herself. Artemis let out a silent breath.

"Why. Not."

"Because, while Perseus may have her face, he is not her."

"He? The one on the television looked remarkably female."

"A case of accidental magic. The gender swapping spell was aimed for another. Perseus was on the unfortunate receiving end."

"That does not change the fact, that he has her eyes, her hair, her skin, and you didn't _tell me_."

"And what would you have done, lieutenant?" Artemis asked evenly.

Zoё shot to her feet, her feeling betrayal and rage becoming her. "What do thee think thou would have done!? Thou would have gone to her!"

"Yes," Artemis snapped. "That would have been a remarkable conversation. 'Hello, my name is Zoё Nightshade. I knew you very well in a previous life, during the French Revolution. Want to pick back up where we left off, where you _died_ in _my arms_!? _Brilliant_ way to restart a relationship!"

Zoё's face fell as that scenario played out in her mind, and how it ended in crushing emotional defeat.

Artemis was on a role. "Zoё, just because Perseus has her face, does not mean they are the same. You of all people know about genetics, and how complete strangers can look alike, even more so when they're separated by centuries. Besides, she was a staunch atheist, vocal in her hate of religion, and Perseus is a devote Christian. Their sharing of face is more likely coincidence than anything."

Artemis watched as Zoё's face showed she was thinking of something to say, something of a rebuttal, but nothing came. Then, the daughter of Atlas' face set, and she looked her goddess in the eye.

"If I were to perish, and you saw someone with my face centuries later, would you stand idle without at least _making sure_ there was no connection?"

The Moon Goddess' face squared. "No," she said.

"No," Zoё echoed. "And neither will I."

"Then...then be prepared to be both rejected, and disappointed, my lieutenant. I ask that you do not seek him out. He will come to you, that I know for a fact."

Zoё nodded stiffly. "Very well, as you command."

The Huntress brushed past the goddess at a brisk pace. Before she exited the tent, she paused. Silver eyes watched her closely.

"Do you remember...what I was prepared to do for her?"

Zoё reached down under her silver top, pulling out a shining silver chain. On this chain was a golden band, a thin one, and just big enough to fit comfortably around the ring finger of a young woman no older than her teens.

"I remember."

"She had already been deflowered," Zoё said wistfully, a tear gathering in her eye as the memories returned, "so she couldn't join the Hunt, but she didn't want to be immortal in the first place, and so I was prepared...I was going to give her this...and we were going to...to…" Zoё sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"I loved her, and I'm not giving up on the chance that Perseus and she are the same."

She disappeared out of the tent.

Artemis' gaze lingered there for a time, before her silver eyes traveled to a box in the back corner of her tent. She walked there and kneeled before it, and opened it. Inside were four guns of an early design, and a metal disk engraved with strange runes, a golden band surrounding the hole in the center.

The first gun was a rifle silent as a blow dart, with an attachment under the barrel that could launch explosives or compressed poisons. The second gun was an eight-barreled flintlock, plated with gold; it was a beautiful piece of hardware haled as the 'epitome of pistol-making in 18th-century France.' The last pistols in the box were even more beautiful, if only for their simple design. They were twin flintlocks, with cherry mahogany grips, and black barrels that were polished enough to shine in the light.

Once, these were the pistols of a man called Shay Patrick Cormac.

Once, these were the pistols of his granddaughter…

Cheyenne Cormac.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Though he may have been sleeping, he was not at rest. His state of mind, his emotional instability, and his fatigued body all combined in a form of brain activity that played darkness across his subconscious mind. In short, Percy was having a nightmare.

It was not a demigod nightmare, revolving around pits and monsters and evil gods and deities, but a nightmare of memory, memories of the cold rage of Faris, of the cold rage of Vergil; their lowest points, when they gave up on humanity and didn't care anymore, when all they wanted was to kill everything that breathed in some bloody crusade of ridding the world of the disease that were humans.

Faris experienced this cold feeling when he was sixteen. He had been in Damascus, when a small girl had come running through the city seeking aid. She was bleeding and beaten. Everyone ignored her, even the Assassins, but not Faris. He listened, and he followed. As it turned out, the girl's father had gone mad, killing his wife and other children, before raping his infant son. The girl had escaped but had been attacked by bandits on her run to Damascus.

Faris has been dubious if the girl's story, but upon reaching her house...his rage had been cold and burning like dry ice. The damaged father knocked Faris unconscious in a surprise attack, and then proceeded to strangle his daughter to death. When Faris woke up, he found himself loosely bound, in a state of undress. The father giggled and mumbled nonsense as he sharpened a knife and proceeded to gut the corpse of his son. Faris broke his bindings, and when he was assaulted, he took the knife from the father and slit the man's throat.

The Assassin then watched with dead eyes as the man bled to death...then he set everything on fire.

Percy watched all of that happen again in vivid detail, before he saw Virgil's cold wrath.

It was early in the man's career, fresh from Lupa's training, when he was still full of revenge, drunk on it, even. See, it had not been the Followers of Romulus that had killed Virgil's girlfriend, but members of the _Cento Occhi._ Before they actually killed her, Vergil learned that they shaved off the skin on her feet, and made her walk on burning coals, fashioned a metal mask, and put it on her face while it was still glowing, and then cut the skin between her anus and vagina, creating one long slit into her body. Then they raped her.

When Vergil had found those particular men...it hadn't been pretty what he had done to them.

Percy watched these events play out in detail, reliving this horror, and feeling again that lost hope in humanity. It was just as well, perhaps, because he was awoken by the loud sound of a door being thrown open, and a disgusting crying out.

"Hey! There's some kids back here!"

"What?"

"Yeah, there's one there!"

Percy rose to his feet, his Bible left open on page six hundred and sixty-six. His eyes were cold and dead, the same way Faris and Virgil's had been. He wasn't thinking clearly, his mind addled by the nightmare and his previous experience with Ares. All he knew right now was death, the desire to wipe the scum of this earth in its entirety. And there were three examples right in front of him.

"So, you think you can just hop in our ride and get a free lift to where we're going, punk?"

Percy didn't say a word to the muscular man as he hopped down from the back of the truck. He was about a head and a half shorter than the thug.

"What? Cat got your tongue—ahh!"

He got too close, and Percy gripped his head, and then slammed his skull into the back of the truck, splitting it open like a grape. The other one freaked out, reaching for a gun, but Percy was faster. He was in front of the man, and swiped his legs out from underneath him. Then he brought his heel down on the thug's face, and caved his skull in with a wet crunch.

The third one, this one having come from the driver's seat, arrived to the scene after hearing the commotion, and was equal parts horrified and confused. His buddies were dead, the door was up, and no one was to be found.

The last man saw a shadow fall on him, and reacted fast enough to dive to the side. He scrambled to his feet, and made haste for the cab, where the shotgun was at. He made it, grabbed the weapon, spun around, and was terribly shocked when it was from his hands and snapped in half like a stick.

A fist buried into his gut, plowing through his abs and sending him to his knees with a wheezing, bloody cough. He looked up and saw...a kid.

Percy backhanded the man's skull, his knuckles shattering bone with great ease, and didn't feel a thing when the man's head impacted the side of the cab, and sent red shooting in all directions.

That had been _easy_. That level strength was beyond even the likes of Virgil and Faris, men whose bodies and achieved supreme performance levels after years of running and climbing and fighting, equipped with weapons and wearing armor. This was because Percy was a demigod born of the strongest lineage, and had levels of physical strength beyond mortal.

He could've done worse, but he had enough morality left to keep it short and quick.

"Percy?" Lou said, shocked.

"Let's go, before someone comes along. Grover, free the animals and do what you can for them. The rest of you: move, or be left behind."

Percy didn't wait for anyone to follow, and simply set off for the West. The others were quick to fall in step after Grover worked his nature magic.

All of them were scared beyond measure at Percy's brutality.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 ** _And that concludes another chapter. Annabeth and Lou have bonded, Percy's not happy, Zoё's not happy, the name of the Fourth Life has been revealed, along with some personality traits, a couple of dark instances in the lives of Faris and Vergil, and a display of how much damage Percy can dish out with demigod strength._**

 ** _What's in-store for our protagonists next chapter?_**

 ** _Not a clue, but be sure to Fav, Follow, and Review please!_**


	25. Out of the Casino, into the Underworld

_**I see everyone is pleased with my inclusion of Shay in this story, as the grandfather of Percy's previous past life during the French Revolution. Now, I understand that Shay has canon grandsons, but we admittedly left canon behind a long time ago, with bits and pieces thrown in for the sake of continuity. Besides, all of my fics are inherently AU, so whatever.**_

 _ **Moving on, we have the Lotus Casino, Santa Monica, Procrustes...probably...and the Underworld, and anything else I think to add or omit. I'm not entirely sure myself.**_

 _ **I write the opening AN before I have any of my thoughts for the chapter fully fleshed out.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own AC or PJO

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy had been walking for two hours straight at a pace exceeding that of a fat person's sprint, and he was barely winded. He had always wondered about that; Faris and Vergil had been able to sprint at top speed, wearing at least fifty pounds of additional gear, almost indefinitely, and he could pretty much do the same. However, just because he could keep this pace for a day, those behind him could not.

What wasn't helping matters was the fact that he was still in his cold mood, and everyone was too afraid to say anything due to their fear of the strength he had displayed, and his whole willingness to kill people. Brutally.

Growling to himself at his own attitude, lapse in control and insensitiveness to the stamina of his friends, Percy came to a dead stop in the middle of the Las Vegas strip. He opened his mouth and was about to turn around to dole out orders, but he was interrupted by a snazzily dressed bellhop.

"Hey, kids! You guys look tired. Why don't you take a quick break in here real fast before you continue on your way?"

Percy didn't need Eagle Vision to tell that this place, this...Lotus Hotel and Casino...was bad news. There was a feel of magic in the air, the kind of magic that promised pleasure and reprieve, and that was the kind of magic that put Percy on edge the most, for it was the same kind of magic that surrounded Medusa's lair.

He was very close to slicing this 'bellhop's' throat and moving on to the next venue, but Annabeth was quick to accept the invitation for a rest. Perhaps it had something to do with the air condition blowing from the open doors, and the smell of food wafting from inside, or maybe it was a girl thing. Granted, Grover and Beckendorf looked perfectly happy with going inside.

However, there was one voice of reason besides Percy, though her words came at a Delayed time.

"Something's wrong here," Lou muttered, holding her Husky puppy, Kira. Percy only just now noticed the subtle humor in the situation: Lou Ellen, the witch, was holding Kira, the animal companion. "There's magic in the air...it feels inviting, but there's…"

"A sinister undertone?" Percy supplied with a dark voice, eyes glacial chips of emerald.

"Yeah…"

Kira whined and wriggled deeper into Lou's arms.

"Keep your guard up and your wits about you. We're about to enter a new battle."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

New battle indeed, for Annabeth continued to insist that they take this situation at face value, and enjoy the chance for a reprieve. And by reprieve, Percy meant use the free, unlimited cash card, all-access game floor, no-line roller coasters, skyline skeet shooting machine, and snackbar.

For a reason he couldn't explain, Percy felt strange when he thought of the concept of shooting guns from a Vegas skyscraper, like it could quickly devolve into something very horrible.

Lou Ellen was the sole voice of reason, but even her voice and Percy's combined could not deter Grover, Annabeth, and Beckendorf from running to the lower floors, eager to relax and enjoy themselves and fill their stomachs. It had been a full 24 hours since he had eaten last, and Percy had yet to even consider the thought of food.

His mind was occupied with far more important things.

He stood on the balcony, pondering the words of Kronos while the memories of the worst things Faris and Vergil had seen played through his mind. The amount of negativity that flowed through him was not healthy. However, a fuzzy and fluffy knife cut through his thoughts.

Percy looked down to investigate the feeling coming from his leg, and saw that Kira was sitting on her haunches, lightly pawing his calf, tongue out and panting excitedly, tail wagging slowly. She looked up at him with probably the closest thing a dog would ever come to making a smile.

Against his better judgement, he picked up the puppy, and held it at face level, arm's locked out in front of him. Kira panted happily at this developement, doing a very good job of looking cute.

Percy deadpanned, "The effect of your innocent aesthetic is ruined when one recalls that you are, in actuality, a rapist gangbanger from Denver, Colorado."

Kira whined, pawing at his wrists and wriggling in his arms, clearly trying to get closer to him. Percy sighed and allowed this. The Husky puppy promptly began to lick his cheek.

"You're an annoyance."

"No, she's my cutie." Lou came to stand next to Percy on the balcony.

"...I'm still not happy with you."

"Yeah...I never got the chance to apologize for that, so...sorry."

Percy gave her a half-lidded, sideways glance. "'Sorry…' Whatever. It's done and it's over with; no point in getting upset over it now."

Lou could tell she wasn't entirely forgiven. Percy's response was his way of saying 'we have more important things to worry about right now.'

Kira began to whine and jerk in Percy's arms, trying to get to the witch, so he let her go and watched her fly. Lou yelped and caught her puppy before she could hit the ground.

"Impeccable reflexes."

"Demigoddess. Duh. But please, don't throw my dog like that again, or I'll do something worse than turn you into a girl…"

"Mm-hm," Percy hummed, clearly not threatened.

A few moments of silence passed, before Lou spoke again, this time uncertain and hesitant.

"Percy...are you okay…? I know being turned into a girl, and then being violated like that by Ares was...terrifying, but...how you killed those men...that look in your eyes, your aura…"

"No, Lou, I am not alright. Your sleeping spell came at a bad time, and I had some bad dreams due to the thoughts floating through my head. I woke up still feeling everything that I was feeling in my dream, and I have yet to feel those emotions burn themselves out of me."

"What was your dream about?"

"The horrors of humanity."

"Oh...what kind of horrors?"

"Rape and murder of family, along with the rape and torturing of a virgin woman."

"Oh."

"Yes... _oh_."

Silence enveloped them again, but it was Percy that broke it this time. "You told me that you can see visions of people's pasts...what have you seen of mine?"

Lou's face set itself into a neutral mask, one that revealed nothing of the inner workings of her mind, but Percy knew people; he had been around for a while. He knew she was weighing the pros and cons of answering his question, which told him that she knew about as much about him as he did, possibly more.

"Do the names...Faris and Vergil...ring a bell?" Lou said slowly.

Percy exhaled out of his nose. "So you know about them...do you know if there are any others?"

"Four more. I've only seen bits and pieces of each of the lives but...the third looks like it takes place during the Golden Age of Piracy, with Blackbeard and Charles Vane, and I think the American Revolution. The fourth one takes place during the French Revolution, the fifth just after the Civil War, in what I think is London, and the sixth life, the last life...World War I."

Percy hummed, low and long, a clear sign of his displeasure at being informed of this.

"Do you...do you want me to tell you more?"

"No," he answered immediately. "Recovering from Faris and Vergil's memories was an experience in and of themselves. I do not want to be left in the dark of important details and minor ones. I will remember these lives eventually, and I'll deal with them then. Until that time comes, however...ignorance is bliss."

Lou nodded her head. "Okay."

"We've spent too much time here. It's time to leave. Begin packing what was unpacked; I'll find the others."

The witch nodded. "On it, Mentor!"

Kira yapped in agreement.

Percy's eye twitched.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to send Lou to find the other three, since she probably had a locator spell, or something of the sort. Granted, Percy also had his own location methods, though they required something of an elevation point.

Luckily, this place had an indoor roller coaster that almost touched its cavernous ceiling.

Climbing the metal architectural structure had been easy, compared to some of the other places Percy had scaled, though the shaking and rattling presented a challenge that was met with determination and annoyance. The Assassin hung off the edge of the roller coaster, just below the top of the first crest, and activated Eagle Vision.

Immediately, dozens of lights appeared in the throngs, and Percy realized with a small bit of dread that there were demigods here, demigods from all gods. Reds, blues, greys, oranges, pinks, greens, and others. Percy even saw, to something akin to astonishment and suspicion, two black auras. Considering his own was green as the sea, and the daughter of Zeus' from the Third Crusade had been electric blue, it stood to reason that those two black auras were children of Hades.

Percy briefly entertained the idea of kidnapping them and using them as hostages and bargaining chips, but that was not how he operated. Ever. Hostages and kidnapping were a Templar tactic.

Anyway, amidst all the auras of demigods trapped here, only three of them were glowing bright gold.

Percy leapt off from the roller coaster, his stomach jumping into his throat as the wind roared in his ears. He swan dived into the pool with all the skill and grace of an Assassin who had been doing such an act for decades. Percy emerged from the pool dry as when he dove in, and quickly made his way to the first of the golden auras.

It was Grover, playing a reverse deer-hunter game, in that he was playing the deer and shooting the humans.

"Die, human scum! MWAHAHAHA!"

"Oh, boy…"

Percy's utterance earned him the attention of Grover. The satyr turned to him with wild eyes, pointing the plastic weapon at the demigod's face. "DIE! DIE! DIE!" Each word was punctuated with the click of the trigger.

Percy rose a brow, then he ripped the gun from Grover's grip, and rammed the stock into the satyr's forehead with enough force to knock him flat on his back, but not unconscious.

"That was more satisfying than what it should have been…" Percy muttered.

Grover blinked at the ceiling, the haze leaving him.

"Huh…?"

"Get up, it's time to leave, and we need to get Beckendorf and Annabeth."

Grover still wasn't entirely out of it yet, but he did get to his hooves and follow dutifully behind his demigod friend. The next person Percy found was Annabeth, and she was playing a virtual architecture game in which she was building a city. It was a good looking city.

"Annabeth, time to leave."

"Huh? We just got here, though."

Percy's eyelids fluttered rapidly in annoyance. "Okay then...there's a spider crawling to your butt."

Annabeth shrieked and began to rapidly spank herself.

As funny as that sight was, perhaps the funniest thing was how the throngs of sheep were completely ignorant as to what was going on a few feet away from them.

Annabeth calmed down and put her back to Percy, looked over her shoulder, and poked her butt out. "Did I get I it?"

The Assassin successfully ignored his budding hormones, but Grover had much less willpower, and stared in awe at the sight presented to him.

"Yes," Percy said seriously. "You got it."

Annabeth sighed in relief. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Let's go get the blacksmith."

They found Beckendorf in the middle of a welding seminar...giving it. "Now, it's important to wear the proper equipment for this, elsewise you could get seriously hurt. Injuries range from blindness, burns, broken bones, and gruesome death." The son of the Forge God hefted an industrial flamethrower. "Let's get started!"

His audience consisted of small children who were in total awe at what they were seeing.

Percy calmly walked up behind the large teen, and chopped his neck. Beckendorf crumpled like a stringless puppet. The children all 'awe'd' in tandem. Percy hauled Beck into a fireman's carry, which should have been much harder considering the size difference, but if there was any struggle, Percy did a good job of keeping it hidden.

"To the front door. We're leaving."

"We get that, but...why?" Annabeth asked.

"Quest. Lightning bolt. Save the world."

The haze fully cleared from both of their eyes. Their mouths made perfect O's.

"Precisely. Let's go."

At the door, they found Lou waiting on them, bags packed, Kira happily panting in her arms. Percy still had Beckendorf across his shoulders, much to Lou's amusement. A bellhop came running to them.

"Hey, kids! We have our new platinum cards, giving you access to the VIP suites, the high-end restaurants, and-"

"Son, shut up before I kill you and trigger an earthquake that'll topple this tourist trap."

The bellhop turned and ran. The quest exited the hotel. Annabeth turned around and growled in frustration.

"The Lotus Hotel, of course." She then launched into an explanation about the Lotus Eaters, the Odyssey, narcotics, and trapping people for all time because...reasons. It wasn't actually known why the Lotus Eaters lured people in and didn't them leave. Perhaps they ate them?

Anyway, now they had to find a new way west, and Percy hailed a taxi cab. He still had the unlimited cash card given to him by the kind bellhop. However, once seating arrangements in the cab had been made, Lou simply used the Mist to control the driver, thereby saving the card from use.

All across the Mojave Desert, the cab never dipped below 100.

In other news, the quest had gone into the Lotus Hotel and Casino with fifteen days left in the quest, and now they had five days left. Not too bad, but not good, either. Percy told his friends about the other demigods he had seen in the Lotus Hotel, to which the general opinion was sympathy, followed by the crushing reality of their inability to do anything for the lost souls in the hotel.

Percy wisely kept his suspicion of there being children of Hades in the casino to himself.

After a few hours of speeding, the quest arrived at the beach of Santa Monica, and Percy frowned at the amount of trash that was everywhere. See, this wasn't a problem back during the Renaissance and the Third Crusade, because people respected where they lived, and they were raised right. But whatever.

"So...now what?" Annabeth asked.

"Now...I walk into the water."

With that, Percy walked into the water, leaving his confused quest mates behind on the beach. Soon enough, the waves were over his head, and he kept walking, dry as a bone, breathing perfectly fine. Eventually, Percy reached the shelf, and looked down unto the abyss with a raised eyebrow.

He raised his arms to his sides, palms up, like 'I'm here now, what do you want?'

Now, on one hand, he was eager to meet his father face to face. He wanted to know what Poseidon was like. On the other hand, had had fathers, Umar and Virile, and his memories and experiences with them had more or less filled the fatherless void that this modern life entailed. So, it was with mixed feelings that Percy received the Nereid riding the giant seahorse.

Disappointed that Poseidon wasn't here in person, not all that broken up about it anyway.

"You've done well, young hero. You have done your father proud."

"Tell him I said thank you. Now, business. Why am I here?"

"For these." The Nereid produced five pearls from behind her back.

"These will return to the sea. Always, no matter where you are."

"An escape from the Underworld, I presume."

The Nereid remained passive, but there was a gleam in her eyes.

Even though Percy was of the mind that Poseidon's absence did not bother him fully, there was still a little part of him that wanted...to get back at the god. Make him feel guilty.

"Tell me...is my father aware of what Ares did to me?"

"Yes, he is aware of the episode at Waterland. He's quite impressed with your abilities."

"Hm. Does he know what happened at the diner afterwards, when the shield was returned?"

The Nereid adopted a confused look. "No," she said uncertainly, "what did happen, then?"

Percy turned around. "Go find out."

Then he rocketed through the water at speeds comparable to that of a bullet.

The Nereid watched him go with a pensive expression. The way he alluded to events after the episode at the waterpark...he made it sound like something terrible had happened. Something horrendous, like a crime that deserved only the utmost punishment.

The Nereid would return to Atlantis and go to the places in which magic was practiced, and she would ask to see the events in which the Sea Prince described. What she saw, made her scream. What information she brought to her Lord, made him furious.

Ares would come to find a new enemy in those of the Sea.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The quest asked what happened down there, and Percy gave them the short version, along with giving them all a pearl. From there, they hopped back in the cab and made haste for Los Angeles. Valencia Boulevard was not hard to find, and the glowing gold building was even easier to find. Granted, a place called DOA Recording Studios was a little ostentatious, and Percy was only a little embarrassed at using Eagle Vision to find such a place. The cab driver didn't say anything when the demigods, satyr, and puppy vacated his cab, but Percy gave him a couple hundred-dollar bills.

Because he was nice like that.

Inside the Studio was a bunch of transparent figures—the dead, presumably—and a man in an Italian suit wearing sunglasses. He had a name plaque in front of him, and it was torture on everyone with ADHD. Though, with common sense, they all deduced that this was Charon, and not Chiron.

When they got close to the ferryman, he looked up at them and grinned fiendishly.

"Well, well. If ain't Poseidon's gender-swapping brat. Tell me, kid, you a girl today or a boy?"

Percy looked at Lou Ellen, who had the decency to blush and look away. Percy looked back at Charon. "I am a boy. I always will be a boy."

"Uh-huh, sure. Anyway, I hear you bought into that Christian stuff, so lemme ask you this." Charon jerked his chin in a direction, and everyone followed his gaze. There, sitting in a chair, praying, a string of beads that ended in a cross dangling from his clasped hands, was a holy man.

"If your God is real, then why is he down here in my waiting room instead up there in the clouds?"

"Revelations, chapter 20, verse 13: 'The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and Death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and all were were judged for their deeds on earth. As you said, Charon, this is but a waiting room."

"Eh, fair enough, but still...he was a religious man, a Christian, and yet here his soul resides, in a pagan domain. Why ain't he in Heaven?"

"Why do you still draw breath, Charon? Because God allows it." Percy jerked a lazy thumb over his shoulder. "This debate might have had more merit to it had you been using anyone other than this man, the Televangelist who had been using his funds to line his pockets, committing sin against the children of God. I believe he died at the end of a police chase, driving his Lamborghini for the Lord."

Percy's eyes bored into Charon's. "To believe in Him is to have eternal life, and deliverance from evil. Tell me, ferryman, do you think this man truly believed, or did he simply use the concept as a get rich quick scheme?"

The pagan was silent.

"Now let me ask you this: among all the dead that reside in the Underworld, are _any_ of them true believers in Christ?"

Charon hesitated, "Well...how should I know that? A lot of people come through here…"

"As I thought. Do not seek to play this game with me in the future, false god, for you will lose again."

"Whatever. Lord Hades is waiting on you, anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The quest stood on the black shores of the Underworld, and while Percy just wanted to do a quick fast march to Hades' palace, everyone else did not share his sentiment.

They were scared.

"Hey, uh, Perce?" Beckendorf said.

"Do not call me 'Perce.'"

"Right, sorry, but, uh...you got any...you got any wise words of advice for our situation? Or a great motivational speech?"

"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.' Now suck it up and let's go."

Percy then proceeded to stroll forward, humming a merry tune as he went.

Lou Ellen looked at her friends. "I'm motivated. What about you three?"

Kira barked, her way of showing confidence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Remember, it's Annabeth that's wearing the magic shoes, but also remember the fact that Luke said Grover was such a bad luck magnet, that he confused the curse on the magic shoes. So, will Annabeth also confuse the curse, will the shoes recognize that they're not on Percy's feet and therefore not activate, or will it even matter? You might have also noticed a distinct lack of Procrustes here, and that is because I had no valid way of squeezing him into here, especially because Lou has Mist powers, which means that Percy still has the unlimited cash card. Whatever could he use that for, I wonder?**_

 _ **Also, Poseidon knows how Ares mouth-raped his child, and he's not happy. That'll be fun come later chapters.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	26. Ares

**_Work is awesome. You meet new people, get paid, and you have something to do with your time. On the downside, people suck, minimum wage isn't something to be proud of, and all your time seems to go into work._**

 ** _At least most of my coworkers are cool people._**

 ** _Anyway, here we have the Underworld, a brief stint with Tartarus, Hades, and the death of the god of war. Should be fun._**

 ** _Disclaimer:_** I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They should have been terrified, honestly. They were in the freaking _Underworld_ , for Pete's sake, the place in which the souls of the dead resided, either to be punished, rewarded, or left to wonder aimlessly in the Fields of Asphodel. This was a place of cold, a place of unwelcomeness, a place in which the living _had no_ place.

And yet, they were in awe. Well, Lou, Annabeth, Beckendorf, and Grover were in awe. In awe of Percy, that is. The son of Poseidon was _strolling_ through the Underworld, hands behind his head, _humming_. It sounded like a hymnal, the kind of thing that no normal Greek would ever listen to. However, Percy's mannerisms weren't what was inspiring the awe in his friends.

It was everything going on around him.

The lines of the dead parted around him when he approached, the three judges fell silent at his presence, and when they got to Cerberus, the three-headed dog quieted down and stepped aside, allowing passage.

Annabeth couldn't take it anymore when they got to Asphodel, and the roved dead parted like the Red Sea. "Okay… _what_ …in the world…is going on here?"

Percy turned to look at her with a lopsided grin that made her heart do something funny. "Guess," he said.

"Hades is telling everyone in his domain to not give us any crap so we can get to his palace ASAP?"

"Sure," Percy shrugged. Then he went back to humming.

"Okay then. What's your theory—"

Lou's eyes widened when she sensed a trickle of magical energy coming from the blonde's shoes. "Annabeth!"

The shoes sprouted wings, and the daughter of Athena screamed as she was dragged away by malicious footwear. The quest immediately gave chase, no pun intended, racing after Annabeth as the shoes carried towards a cave. Percy was the fastest, easily outstripping Beckendorf's longer stride, and Grover's hooves, but even he was having trouble keeping pace. Whatever magic was driving those shoes, it was driving them with haste.

Percy saw something out of the corner of his eye, and glanced over to see Lou Ellen hovering along. The look on her face could have been interpreted as she was either straining her magical power, or she was trying not to fart. Given the situation, Percy was inclined to believe the former.

The walls of the cave suddenly surrounded them, and then there was the cliff that lead straight down into darkness. Lou Ellen's eyes widened when she saw where she was heading, and the sheer terror that was Tartarus gripped her in a vice, and her mind went blank. She flew straight over the edge. Annabeth's screams died in her throat when she went over the edge.

Percy's arms nearly popped out of his sockets when he grabbed both girls' arms and completely halted their momentum. They dangled over the edge, the son of Poseidon about to fall over it himself.

"Lou…"

"Yes, Annabeth?"

"Do have any more diapers on you?"

"I'm wearing one…"

"Do you have any in a bag somewhere?"

"Why?"

"I think I'm gonna need one."

"Both of you shut up down there," Percy grunted. "There will be no diapers, people are tired of that by now."

"…was that a Fourth Wall Break?"

"Can it, Annabeth."

The winged shoes wriggled off her feet, and disappeared into the abyss. The girls heard Percy suck in a breath, and then they were being lifted at a moderately fast pace. Quicker than they thought possible their chests were above the cliff's edge. They were so stunned that they failed to react properly until Percy hissed.

"This angle is awkward, and you two aren't exactly _light_. Will you get up here already before I drop you?"

They didn't need to be told twice. Annabeth and Lou scrambled over the side, and promptly collapsed next to their savior, panting and pale.

"What was that?" Annabeth asked.

"Gifts from Luke, remember?"

Grey eyes shifted to look at the leather coat. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. Merely giving you the clues necessary to make an educated guess regarding your crush."

Annabeth's eyes narrowed. "You're saying Luke enchanted those shoes to bring us down… _here_?"

"Something like that."

If Annabeth wasn't still so scared of where exactly she was and what had almost just happened, she very well would have slapped Percy across the face. However, that didn't stop her from glaring.

"Take that back," she hissed.

Percy still had half his body dangling over the side. "Later. Right now, we have more pressing matters, such as leaving this place and getting to Hades' palace."

"Fine," Annabeth grudgingly conceded, "but don't think this is over."

"Uh-huh."

Percy wriggled backwards, rolled over, and then popped to his feet. Then he helped Lou Ellen to her feet, and offered a hand to Annabeth, which was rejected with a petulant 'hmph!' as she climbed to her own feet.

The three were making their way back through the cave when a cold wind brushed past them, down to the pit. Percy thought it was more akin to someone taking in a breath, and his thoughts were confirmed when a he heard whispered words come from behind him.

 _Grandson…_

Lou Ellen and Annabeth heard it too, because they looked behind themselves with questioning looks on their faces.

"Grandson?" Annabeth said confusedly.

"Both of you continue forward. I'll be joining you shortly."

"Percy," Lou said. "What are you about to do?"

"Have a conversation with my grandfather."

"You're grand—" two pairs of eyes widened as the thought slammed into them like a freight train.

"Percy, no!" they said in tandem.

"It's either get this over with now, or be tormented with dreams later. Now shoo. There is business that needs my attention."

Percy spun around and marched back down the tunnel. Lou and Annabeth shared a look, looked back down at where Percy was, looked back at each other, and the continued up.

Percy stared down at the pit. "You have my attention."

He felt something akin to an exhale pass over him, and he smelled the stink of rotting corpses.

 _You've done well in your endeavors, Grandson, though I cannot fathom why you still side with my idiot children._

"I've already told you: I side with one God. The Olympians' quarrel threatens this world, I'm simply doing my part in ending their squabble."

In the pit, something chuckled. Percy was reminded of Jabba the Hut.

 _Do you think this will be the end of it? I've watched them for millennia, watched as they've torn this world asunder in a way I never allowed my kin to do. They quarreled yesterday, they quarrel today, and they'll quarrel tomorrow as well. There is no end to it, Grandson, at least, not an end that will naturally happen, just as the end of the Primordials was not natural, nor was that of the Titans._

"Yes, you all seem to have a running gag with sons overthrowing their fathers. What? Are you going to tempt Heracles into doing something stupid?"

 _HA! That muscle-headed oaf couldn't work out a preschool-level brainteaser. Oh no, Grandson, it will not be Zeus' sons that overthrow him and restore order to this chaotic world, but Zeus' father. I will rise from this prison, and I will wage war with my traitorous sons and daughters._

"Traitorous? You ate them out of fear for your throne. They only escaped your stomach and ended your tyrannical rule over the people of Earth."

Another Hut-like laugh rumbled out from Tartarus.

 _I guess it is true that history is written by the victors. The Olympians won the war and wrote the story differently, I see._

Percy stared down into the pit. "What are you talking about?"

 _I am talking about the true nature of history. I take it says something along the lines of 'I ate my children because I was scared of them, but my wife his away Zeus, and then he returned in his prime, freed his siblings, and then waged war against the evil Titans,' yes? WRONG!_

 _I swallowed my children because I was shown a vision of what they would do to this earth, letting humanity spiral out of control, letting them pollute and ruin nature, letting them slaughter themselves in the name of gods and men. I sought to prevent such fate for the world I ruled, and so I did my best to cut their destinies short. Look what happened when they got free._

"And then humanity was allowed to flourish under their rule, stumbling and falling and picking themselves back up."

 _And you think I did not let them do that when I was king? Oh, my Grandson, how much you have been deceived by your father, aunts and uncles. We Titans are evil only because that is how our children wrote us to be in annals of history. Go now, finish your quest, and ponder on my words, Grandson. Choose carefully whom you follow in this web of lies you have been caught in._

"I follow the One True God."

 _Be careful that He does not lead you astray…_

The presence that Percy felt faded, and he knew that he was now simply standing above Tartarus. He turned around and left the cave and the tunnel. He emerged into the Underworld, and was met with cries of surprise and joy.

"You're alive!"

"You're okay!"

"Bla-ha-ha!"

"Rough! Rough!"

"Percy!"

Lou nearly bulldozed the demigod into the ground, but the Assassin was sturdy enough to hold his ground. The witch drew her arms away with a blush, and stepped back.

"So…what did _he_ want?"

"To inform me that the Titans weren't as bad as the gods made them out to be, because the gods wrote history to their favor. The 'history is written by the victor principle.'"

"He's lying to you," Annabeth said immediately. "He's called the Crooked One for a reason."

"True, but there is merit to what he claims. What proof do we have of the Titan's cruelty beyond what Zeus and his allowed to be written?"

While compelled to argue, she was a daughter of Athena, and she could see the logic in what Percy was saying. Beyond the stories told by Homer, and Hesiod, and Aeschylus, and Sophocles, and Ovid, and Virgil, there weren't any other documents pertaining to what life was like during the Titan's reign. Besides, written works could be manipulated, falsified, and engrossed.

Now Annabeth found herself questioning every myth she knew of, questioning all of their validity.

"Dang it, Percy! Now you've got me conspiracy theorizing!"

"Good. That gives you something to do on the way to Hades' palace. Onward and upward, as they say. Let's move."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The trek to the black residence of the Underworld God was met without any more interference until the gates were reached. Gates that were guarded by literal skeletons with guns.

The gates creaked open, and a fluttering sound was heard. Everyone looked up, and then everyone besides Percy got ready for battle at the sight of the Furies. Alecto bared her fangs, never alighting, along with her sisters.

"Come with us, honey. Lord Hades wishes to see you."

Percy just raised a brow, and followed his former math teacher through the black marble of his uncle's home. They soon arrived at the throne room, and Percy cared not for details or explanations of appearance. His sole focus was on the ten-foot-tall man in the flowing black robes sitting upon a throne made of skeletal parts.

Percy stood in front of Hades, his friends more or less quivering behind him, scared out of their wits.

"Uncle."

"Nephew," Hades said slowly, as if testing the word out. "I believe you have something of mine."

"Which would be…?"

The dark god's black eyes alit with smoke. "Do you take me for a fool, Nephew? I know you have my brother's Bolt, and I know you have _my_ Helm! Return to me what is mine, and I may just grant you a _quick_ death."

"Ahhh, so that's what Alecto was screaming about on the bus so many days ago," Percy mused happily. "Well, Uncle, this will be unfortunate news for you, but…I do not have your Helm. For that, I apologize. As for the Bolt; Beckendorf, the bag, please."

"Uh, sure."

The son of Hephaestus handed the bag to Percy.

"Thank you, Beck."

"Don't mention it."

The Assassin unzipped the bag, rummaged through it a little bit, before his hand hit something that was decidedly not clothes, money, or Double-Stuff Oreos. "Ah-ha!" Percy promptly pulled a bronze cylinder out of the bag. The air suddenly smelled of ozone, and thrummed with electricity. "I take it _this_ is the Master Bolt."

Hades eyes the weapon. "Indeed it is, but how did you get it?"

"Ares gave us this bag, Uncle, which means he most likely has your Helm as well."

"While true that idiot may have given you the bag with the Bolt in it, that does not mean that he has my Helm, nor does this absolve you of suspicion."

"Well, isn't that just a darn shame that I don't care about your suspicions. You are not the Lightning Thief, and we do not have your Helm. Our business here is concluded."

"Not so fast, Nephew. I have something you might be interested in."

Green eyes narrowed. "Such as…?"

Hades held out his hand, and a stream of fire was spat from it. Inside the flames, the face and body of a familiar person became clear. The woman's eyes widened.

"Percy!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The son of Poseidon…was not prepared for this. Some small part of him told him something like this could have happened, but he had ignored it. Honestly, he didn't know how to react in this situation, he didn't know what to do. If he hadn't been burdened with the memories of Faris and Vergil, he most likely would have been teary eyed and demanding that Hades give Sally back to him.

It was wisdom those two shared, their experiences, the higher purposes in life they had served, that had dulled Percy's fire for saving his mother. He had been older than her, he was wiser than she was, smarter than she was; he was above her in almost every way imaginable.

Thoughts of living with her again left a strange taste in Percy's mouth, and there was a part of him that had hopes that the episode with the Minotaur had been the end of Sally, and then there would be one less thing holding Percy back from seeking out any remaining factions of Templars and Assassins.

Yes, in a corner of his mind, Percy had hoped that his mother had died—or rather, had finally found peace.

However, here she was, in the grasp of Hades, and Percy didn't know how to handle that. Perhaps it was all the memories of Vergil's mother, Aquila, that had the biggest impact on Percy's psyche, because all the feelings of warmth and acceptance with that woman were far stronger than what Percy felt in regards to Sally. He blamed that on the fact that he had apparently had no soul up until almost a year ago, but he had most of his soul during the Renaissance.

In light of the situation, however, the Assassin had to do something, so he went with the classic, "Give her back."

Hades waved his hand, and the fire vanished, along with the visage of Sally. "So, the devout Christian wants something. I thought your _God_ was the only thing you ever needed."

Percy was no longer in that mood. "Do not start this game with me, Hades. I will not be as forgiving with you, as I was with Charon."

"Is that a threat, little boy?"

"No, _fool_ , it is a promise. Give my mother back to me now, or your trip to the Lake of Fire will be arriving much shorter than what was foretold in the Book of Revelation."

Hades smirked. "While a battle with you would be amusing, I think I've discovered a way in which we both get what we want. You claim Ares has my Helm? Then go to him, and prove your innocence. Do this, and your mother will be returned to you. I swear it on the Styx."

The argument could be felt in the air, but Lou Ellen spoke out before their stay in the Underworld extended itself beyond what was necessary. It was creepy down here, dammit! She wanted to leave!

"Thank you, Lord Hades. We'll get right on that. Pearls, everyone?"

No one had to be told twice to crush the pearls under heel, though Percy did so with a highly displeased look on his face. Up until the bubble obscured his vision, he never broke eye contact with Hades.

Hades watched them ascend through his ceiling, and when they were gone, he said, "Alecto?"

The Fury fluttered to his feet and bowed. "My Lord."

"They were in the Lotus Hotel, correct?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Do any of them suspect Nico and Bianca?"

"…I believe Perseus does, my Lord."

"I see…return to the surface and monitor its happenings. If Ares has my Helm, I want it back. I'll decide his punishment later." Alecto's fanged grin made Hades look at the Fury. "Is there something you would like to add?"

"Ares is on the beach, my Lord."

It took Hades a moment, but he figured it out. "Ah, yes. Never mind then on punishment. Poseidon will take care of it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The quest popped up in the waters of the Pacific, and Percy immediately noticed the figure on the sands not even a full twenty meters away. So did everyone else, and while they felt unquenchable rage at Ares for what he had done to Percy, and for what he had planned to do, they also realized that Ares was a god, and gods were not so easily handled.

The quest found themselves on the shore, carried by a warm wave.

"Sup, you little shits," Ares greeted casually. "None of you are supposed to be alive."

"Where's the Helm?" Percy asked, his voice dead.

"Oh, you mean this thing?" the god of war pulled a ski mask from his pocket. "Well, I suppose you can have it if you can beat me in a fight."

Percy stepped forward, only to be grabbed by a very concerned Lou Ellen. "I know you want to cave his skull in, but think about this. He's the god of _war._ Fighting is his territory."

"We are on a beach. We're in my territory."

"Poseidon can't help you without being directly provoked by Ares," Lou said, panic in her eyes.

"I do not need Poseidon's help, nor yours. Now let go of me, so I can end this, and we can all get back home."

"Percy…"

"Have some faith, will you?"

The son of Poseidon jerked his arm free, and continued towards the pig who had planned to rape him.

"Oh ho? Coming to get a little revenge for the diner, eh? You know, I really do prefer girls, but I think I'll make an exception for that juicy ass of yours. Granted, I am a god, so I guess I can just turn you into a girl now and have my way with you. Tell me, you got any good baby names picked out yet?"

"Ares, your naiveté would be touching, if it wasn't so annoying."

"How do you figure?"

"You still assume you will be fighting me."

The god of war froze, but then he laughed, though there was an undertone of nervousness to it. "You just got lucky that afternoon, bitch. Big J was lookin' out for you then, he isn't now."

"Well then, if you're so confident, come, and have me as you would."

"With pleasure."

A broadsword appeared in Ares' hand, and the god teleported to within arm's length of the boy. The half-bloods and satyr screamed in horror, and Kira howled in her high-pitched puppy voice. Percy merely kept a straight face, and found time to quote scripture.

"'The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still.' Book of Exodus. Chapter Fourteen. Verse Fourteen."

Ares' blade nearly rent Percy's head from his body, but the pagan's sword was stopped _dead_ …by the demigod's own bare hand.

The world fell silent, everyone staring in awe at what they were watching. Above, dark grey clouds gathered. To the side, the ocean began to roil and toss. Below, the sands started to shake. In front, Percy's body became shrouded in a golden aura that calmly fluctuated across his body in a dazzling display of alternating patterns.

The demigod's eyes opened, and Ares stumbled back at seeing the golden pupils.

"W-What…?"

 _"_ _Peace."_

He spoke, and the world obeyed. The ocean immediately calmed, the clouds halted in their gathering, leaving rays of sunlight to stream through in random locations, and the sands fell back into their slumber.

He looked at the trembling pagan, who stood on bended knees.

 _"_ _Chaos, Izanagi, Ra, and Búri, after I defeated them at the onset of Creation, cautioned me against giving the first species free will, and allowing all others from their minds to also have free will, especially so considering the horrors and travesties it would bring. Indeed, I have witnessed the worst those with my gift have done to this world, but so too have I seen the best. You, my child, are an example of the worst of those with free will. Now, separate into your halves."_

He spoke, and reality obeyed. Ares was separated, his biker-ensemble self gasping in the sand, his camouflaged self standing erect and upright, sweating.

 _"_ _Leave us, Mars. I have no issue with you."_

The more honorable pagan war god nodded stiffly, and vanished in a swirl of sand. That left only Ares at the mercy of Him.

 _"_ _I have tolerated the many acts of my children over the eons. I have stood silent while my name was used in false pretense, and I have stood silent while my name is slandered and declared as myth and fairy tale. As active as I have been, I see now that I need to be…even more active. Forgive me, my child, for as your Father I must discipline you for your grave misconducts, and your price is a steep one. Know that this hurts me far more than it will hurt you."_

He placed a hand on the pagan's head, gripping the skull tightly, and then, with a single yank, He pulled Ares' entire spinal column out of his body in a violent spray of golden fluid, accompanied by the terrifying sound of shredding bone and ripping flesh. The body slumped over and vanished in a soft golden glow, and the head, spinal cord dripping rivulets of gold upon the sand, also vanished in that same glow.

Grover ducked behind Beckendorf and was sick upon the beach when Ares was relieved of his head.

He looked at Percy's friends with a sad smile, and they all froze in place.

 _"_ _It is a sad day for a father when he must punish his children in such a way. My firm hand is one my most errant child has successfully used against his siblings to turn them from me, but alas. These are grievances that none of you need concern yourself with._

 _"_ _Kira, you have been given a second chance; do not let it go to waste. Charles, your relationship with Silena is a pure one; please, wait till marriage, if you can. Grover, I have heard your prayers for my help in finding Pan; I will be with you, always. Annabeth, you seek answers to the many questions you have; study my Word, be faithful, and you will find them. Lou Ellen, you have prayed to me every time before you sleep that you will wake up unsoiled; my errant child is fond of using such prayers to turn his siblings from me. To you I say this: do not let my son corrupt you."_

And then just like that, the glow in Percy's pupils, and the aura around him, disappeared.

"Well, that was something."

…

"Is there something on my face?"

Annabeth's brain kickstarted first. "WHAT WAS THAT!?"

"Our que to head for the nearest airport. Alecto retrieved the Helm when none of you were looking, and my mother has been returned to our apartment in Manhattan. Gabe is there, and I have business to discuss with him. So pip, pip, cheerio, and let's go."

With that, Percy began to head in the same general direction of an airport.

Everyone was still so stunned at what they just witnessed, they didn't even question the logic of a son of Poseidon getting on an airplane.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The airport was a mile away, and the quest was walking through the bustling city streets, when Percy stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

"All of you continue to the airport. There is business that I need to attend to here."

"Can't you hold it till we get to the airport?"

"How 'bout one my diapers?"

"As polite as that is, I am not referring to that kind of business. Don't question me—get going. I imagine I'll be there within the next ten minutes anyway."

Unsatisfied but knowing they weren't getting anything else out of him, the rest of the quest continued to the airport. Percy walked down the alley. It was the kind of alley that had four entrances, going down to a central junction much larger than the floor space of the average house. There were dumpsters, trashcans, backdoors, garage-type doors, powerlines, transformers, and a drunk homeless man.

This was the kind of alley you made a conscious effort to avoid, and not look down into.

"I've had all of you made for the past hour. Get out here, now."

Knowing they had been caught, by a child no less, the figures in the white hoodies melted from their hiding places.

"Your blending was terrible, your stealth was even worse, and your ability to hide yourselves from the senses of others was nothing short of pitiful. However, I trust none of you followed me for a lecture, though it is refreshing and somewhat heartwarming to know that the Brotherhood still exists…assuming you are who I think you are. Elsewise, I would feel embarrassed. Actually, I'm still embarrassed. Has the quality of Mentors and their training degraded that much, or all of you simply terrible learners?"

"That does it, take this brat out!"

Percy heard the obnoxious clanking of firearms, and took in all of his surroundings in head-spinning speed. Twas not firearms, but dart guns, all presumably loaded with sleeping toxins. While the Nemean Lion's pelt would have easily deflected all projectiles, Percy's ADHD reflexes were not to be ignored. From three different directions came the darts, and in was in three different directions that Percy twisted about.

He brandished his hand towards the leader of the group. Held in between his fingers were all three offending darts. With a grin, Percy whipped about, slinging all three darts into the necks of those with the guns. They collapsed almost instantly, but the Assassin could they were still breathing.

"Now then. I believe you'll have to use your fists from this point forward."

The modern-day Assassins charged.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 ** _So, the Brotherhood is here, but where's Desmond at? What's Abstergo doing, if anything? And what does Percy have to say about the poor quality of those of his Order? What will he say when he learns about how far deep into the shit the Order went, at the death of a single Mentor, by the hand of a single traitor?_**

 ** _I can tell you now: it won't be pretty._**

 ** _Anyway, next chapter is Percy whipping ass and being disappointed, the ending of the Lightning Thief arc, and the shelving of this story in favor of either_** **Green-Eyed Ghoul,** ** _or_** **Son of Jashin.**

 ** _Oh, and Ares had his ass handed to him._**

 ** _Fav, Follow, and Review please!_**


	27. The End of the Quest

**_We hit the 600-mark last chapter in Reviews, so everyone deserves a cookie! Feel free to go buy some from your local grocery store/bakery, or just make them at home with any cookie dough you already have in the freezer._**

 ** _Anyway, an opening fight scene, Percy meeting Desmond, Olympus, and the end of the arc…at least, as of right now. That might change when I get down to the end of the chapter._**

 ** _Disclaimer:_** I don't own AC or PJO

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not counting the ones taking a nap, there were nine more Assassins. They all charged head-on from different directions. Not a bad tactic, swarming, but their formation was loose, their net filled with holes big enough for oxen to run through, and Percy was much smaller than an ox.

He blitzed through the open hole, running right at an Assassin that was hanging back, coming in at a slower pace. Percy saw that it was a girl under that hood, one that was no older than her early twenties, and she was caught completely flat-footed at him getting in her guard. An elbow to her diaphragm sent her sailing through the air, and into the world of dreams.

Percy spun around, tilted his head to the side to avoid a punch, caught the offending limb around the shoulder, jerked forward, and rammed his knee into the gut of his attacker, another woman. Then he grabbed tighter, spun around, and used the flying legs as an impromptu baseball bat to nail two Assassins in the head, in one fluid sweep. They were sent to the ground, out like lights.

Doing another rotation, Percy threw his captured Assassin into the side of a dumpster, where she crumpled and didn't get up. But her back rose and fell at a steady pace. A war cry alerted the reincarnation of Vergil to the bull rush of a bruiser of an Assassin. He allowed himself to get bulldozed and picked up off the ground, then he slammed his fists into the large one's back. The sound of cracking bone was heard across the alley junction.

Percy back peddled a few paces as the momentum carried into him dispersed.

Disappointed was how he could describe himself. The first woman couldn't predict to save her life, the second had no idea how to counter simple hand-to-hand techniques, those other two had poor reflexes to not be able to duck, and the fifth guy, the one he just put down…seriously? When did charging by yourself like that ever work, especially when you're screaming at the top of your lungs?

Amateurs.

Percy looked at the remaining four. "Well? Are you gonna change tactics, or whistle Dixie?"

The answer came in the form of a metal ball being tossed at his feet. It began to expel a thick amount of smoke at a rapid pace. Percy frowned, unimpressed. It was clear that their goal was to apprehend, and a smoke bomb wasn't a bad strategy, but this should have been anesthetic gas, not just a smoke screen. Using Eagle Vision, Percy saw the four remaining Assassins all coming in at once, unique goggles on under their hoods.

Alright, here's to hoping they had decent martial artistry prowess.

The first one jumped into the air, intending to put all of his weight into something of a haymaker, fully expecting his approach to be covered by the smoke. Percy slid to the side, the Assassin landed, and had his face grabbed. Then he was thrown clean out of the smoke, which was starting to disperse.

"He can see us! Fall back!"

The smoke cleared out entirely, and the one who had been thrown was back on his feet. Percy stared down the four of them. "I'm disappointed. Tell me: are you refusing to use any of your other weapons, or did you neglect to bring them on account of underestimating me?"

Instead of answering any of his questions, the leader instead asked, "Who _are_ you?"

"Oh, you already know the answer to that one, son. Elsewise, you wouldn't have targeted me. Now quit your yapping, and show me what you got."

Instead of foolhardily rushing to attack en masse, the squad of Assassins got smart, and calmed themselves. They surrounded Percy, giving him a twenty-foot birth, all of them blocking a potential exit to the streets. The reincarnation of Vergil put a hand behind his back, and extended his other, palm flat, like a gentleman offering a lady his hand for a dance.

After a time, the one in front came first. Percy slid to his side, spun on his heel, and close-lined the man. The force of the blow and his speed resulted in him spinning hard enough to make a complete, one hundred and eighty degree spin, and land on his face. Percy harshly stepped on his head, knocking him out.

"Sloppy."

He jerked his head to the side, dodging the fist from behind. He grabbed it before it could be retracted, spun around so that the arm went above his head, all the while twisting the offending limb. The Assassin winced mightily, but screamed in agony when Percy hiked his leg up onto the outstretched arm, and used it as a fulcrum to break the Assassin's arm. Percy put the man out with a punch to the lower jaw, breaking it.

"Pitiful. Borgia grunts put up harder fights, though perhaps I'm not being fair."

The two remaining Assassins nodded at each other, and the both rushed in. Percy put both arm in front of him, and was content with back-stepping to deal with the assault. The two worked well together, must've been the Leader and the Backup, coordinating their punches and kicks. Percy blocked all of their attacks with relative ease, his demigod reflexes more than capable of handling a couple of mortals.

His back suddenly hit a dumpster, and then his feet were knocked out from under him by a low arm. Ah, the woman from earlier, the one he had thrown against this particular dumpster, was awake. Now _that_ was a strategy; steadily back him up until the one on the ground could get a sneak attack in.

Unfortunately, Percy was stronger than all three combined, and faster, and a great deal more agile. He planted on his hands, and sprung up with almost lethal force. He nailed the two Assassins on the undersides of their jaws, and kept going up in such a way that he landed on their heads, his full weight coming down on their skulls. They didn't die, but they most likely had major concussions. The woman on the ground gaped at Percy's display of strength and agility.

The reincarnate Assassin turned to face her with an amicable smile. "Greetings. Now, would you mind telling me why the Brotherhood is trying to kidnap me?"

She fainted.

"Well, that's counterproductive." He heard the crackling of a radio.

 _"_ _Alpha Team, report."_ Static-y sound.

 _"_ _Beta Team, report."_ More static.

 _"_ _Charlie Team, re_ —"

Percy picked up the radio from out of the Leader's pocket. "Yes, hello. My name is Percy Jackson. Please tell me all of you are Assassins and not Templars."

 _"_ _What the-? How did you-"_

"Knocked them all out. It seems the quality of the Order has diminished over time. You are Assassins, correct?"

 _"_ _Yes, but how do you know-"_

"It's a very complicated story. Now, are you the leader of the Las Angeles Brotherhood, or are you the Mentor?"

 _"_ _Uh…um…"_

"Your hesitance tells me you are neither, which begs the question of why you seem to be the one in charge of my kidnapping. Why are you attempting that, by the way?"

 _"_ _We saw your stunt at St. Louis. Your technique, the Hidden Blade, and then the Leap of Faith. We wanted answers."_

"You could've just asked me in person."

 _"_ _We didn't think you would take kindly to a bunch of strangers in hoods approaching you and asking you questions."_

"Because I would take kindly to being stalked and attacked. Excellent plan. Now, what was your backup plan?"

 _"…"_

"Hm, disappointing. Anyway, I have business to attend to. Meet me at Central Park at your earliest possible convenience. We'll talk there."

Percy crushed the radio in his hand, and then he snarled, snarled at the apparent patheticness of his Order, snarled at the apparent hole they seemed to have dug for themselves, snarled at how not smart these idiots were, and snarled at the fact that he had a deadline to meet, and couldn't waste time on talking to whoever was on the other end of the line—and then he smacked his face when he remembered the Summer Solstice was actually three days away, and he had plenty of time left to actually make conversation.

Oh well.

"Woah…"

Percy looked at the man who had just run down here, and he blinked at the man's striking resemblance to Ezio, and…Altaїr? Huh, trippy. This guy even had Ezio's scar on the right side of his lips.

"Considering how loud you are, how amazed you are, how vocal you are, how out of breath you are, and the fact that you just announced your presence out of nowhere…I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you never finished your training, shoddy as it may have been."

"Uh, yeah, kind of…"

"And your name is?"

"Desmond Miles. I—I saw you on the news, and then I tracked you here, after following these other guys."

"A free-lance Assassin with mediocre skills…my, do we have much to talk about, novice. However, your questions will have to wait for later. I have business to attend to, and I believe my flight leaves very soon. Find me at Central Park, along with these third-rate kids."

"Wha-hey! Wait!"

Percy sprinted down the alley, and into the crowd. Desmond didn't stand a chance in Hell of finding the boy.

The descendant of Ezio groaned. He basically quit his job, drove literally across the country, tracking down a kid with Assassin abilities and appearance, finds said kid, only to be blown off like an expensive hooker. What's worse, he recognized every one of the Assassins on the ground, and they were stirring.

Desmond took that as his que to leave, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Desmond…? Is that you?"

 _Shit._ "Uh, hey…Dad…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy found Lou waiting for him at the security scanner. All the employees had a dazed look in their eyes, telling Percy they were all under the influence of the Mist.

"So…was business taken care of?"

"Yes. The Assassins still exist, meaning the Templars do as well, but my compatriots have terrible skills for this day and age."

"Well, you are a demigod now, meaning you have superior physical abilities when compared to any human, so cut them a little slack."

"Perhaps, but I've taught many novices before, and I know how skilled they should be at this point."

"Maybe they're all just trainees?"

"Maybe. Anyway, I've set a meeting for Central Park as soon as they can get there."

"Ah."

"Also, Lou," here, Percy turned serious. "The Assassins found me, so it stands to reason that the Templars won't be far behind. Keep your guard up, your eyes peeled, and your nose to the dirt. We may have company on our flight."

"Got it," the witch nodded. "But, uh, Percy?"

"Yes?"

"You know how I can use magic?"

"Yes…"

"I don't think a bunch of humans who don't even have Clear Sight will be much of a threat."

"Oh. Fair enough. Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Leave one of them intact. I wish to have a word."

"Got it."

Annabeth, Beckendorf, and Grover heard this, and were confused. "Uh, what are you talking about?" the daughter of Athena asked.

"Mortal mercenaries in the employ of the enemy."

"I think that was poetry."

"Well, Apollo is my cousin, so I guess we share something in common."

"Uh-huh."

Meanwhile, while all of this was happening, Lou Ellen was working her magic, Kira napping in her lap, curled into a ball of fluff. First, the rest of the passengers were put under what basically amounted to a 'notice nothing' spell. Second, all but one of the Templars were turned into a bunch of sleeping piglets. Third, the last Templar was frozen in his seat, unable to move. Finally, Lou cast something of a truth serum spell on the man.

Just like that, the Templar threat was subdued.

"Lou, is there anything you can't do?" Beck asked.

"I cannot breathe fire like a dragon."

"Oh."

Percy got up from his chair, hands clasped behind his back like a gentleman, and he approached the magically bound Templar, smiling warmly. "Greetings, my friend. I believe you and yours were trying to kidnap me, yes?"

"Yes," he answered in a dull monotone.

"Why?"

"My superiors believe you to be descended from an Assassin. They wanted you brought in for an experiment."

"What kind of experiment?"

"I do not know."

"Hm, convenient."

"I thought it was annoying."

"Agreed. So, what's the face of the modern-day Templar Order?"

"Abstergo Industries."

Percy almost fell down. "Oh."

He knew very well what Abstergo was. As did everyone not living in a rainforest somewhere in South America, or a desert in Africa. They were the world's largest pharmaceutical company, pioneers in genetic research, hosts of benevolent charities, makers of every house-hold appliance known to man, car/home/medical insurance brokers, and all-around good people.

So, of course they were being run by the Templars.

Cross-bearing bastards always did like to make themselves the political and commercial heads, so even if they were killed, their deaths would be mourned instead of celebrated. Now Percy had even more reason to frown upon the current state of the Brotherhood: how the _fuck_ had they let the Templars become so powerful?

Something like Abstergo would not be easy to take down.

However, on the bright side, Percy now had something to do with his life. The Assassins still existed, although in what appeared to be ruins; the Templars still existed, in a state of power Percy hadn't seen since the era of the Borgias. The ancient conflict still raged, though seemingly in a state of cold.

Percy intended to heat things back up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the flight was uneventful until landing, in which Lou released her spells. Percy was going to kill the Templar agents, and leave their bodies in the bathroom, but Lou convinced him otherwise by wiping their memories and setting them of paths of good deeds.

Percy was sure that was going to get them killed later down the line, not remembering their employers like that, but hey. A lot less blood that he had to spill himself.

There was a procession of Templars at the airport, no doubt waiting for the agents on board to emerge with Percy in their possession. What they got was a trick of the Mist. From there, it was a simple cab ride to the Empire State Building, an altercation with the receptionist in which he said only Percy was allowed to go up, and everyone else had to return to Camp Half-Blood, and an elevator ride up to Olympus.

With crappy elevator music.

When the doors opened, Percy could only think that the pagans had sought to recreate what Heaven looked like, and came up short. Granted, Olympus was a beautiful place, filled with terrific smells and sounds, dazzling scenery, and packed to the brim with beautiful individuals. False gods, obviously.

Finding the throne room was easy enough, given how it was situated on a hill that overlooked the entire mountain, and was gold. There was also the unhappy storm cloud swirling above it. The doors were ostentatious and annoyed Percy, and were easier to push open than he imagined, but still. The only deities present were his father and his uncle, and where his uncle didn't look terribly pleased, his father looked proud…and angry.

Percy nodded to Poseidon, a show of respect, and Poseidon nodded back. Zeus took offense to this.

"You bow to him before you bow to the master of this house!?"

"Silence yourself, paranoid king. I'm not even bowing to this one." Percy promptly took the Master Bolt out of the blue bag, and threw it at Zeus, who caught it, and still wasn't exactly happy, but the glower from his elder brother stayed his wrath.

For now.

The Sky God leveled his own glower at his nephew. "Do not think you have favor with me, child. Your existence bodes ill for the future of the gods, but for the sake of peace within the family," Zeus glanced darkly at Poseidon, who glared back, and then directed his electric blue gaze back to Percy, "you will live this day. But know this: do not ever attempt to fly, for I will strike you down."

"You may try, false god, but we all know you will fail."

Ozone filled the air, along with the sparking of lightning bolts from Zeus' eyes. "Is that a challenge."

"If it were, you would fare no better than Ares."

An earthquake shook Olympus, and it was Poseidon who was trying to break his trident in half by squeezing it. "Son," he said tersely, "please, do not say that name…in my presence. Thank you."

Inside of him, Percy liked to think that feeling in him was relief. Relief that his father seemed furious with the War God. Relief that the Nereid had indeed done her homework. Relief that Poseidon loved him enough to feel anger when something terrible like what Ares did, happened.

Zeus took the message that his time here was over. "Don't go into the sky, ever." Then he vanished in a blast of lightning.

Percy looked at Poseidon, not entirely sure what to do from here, so he just nodded once, "Father," and he turned around for the door. The Assassin heard the sound of rushing water, and then he was being tightly embraced from behind. Something in the boy melted, and he gave himself to his father's arms, completely relaxing in the strong yet gentle grip.

"I'm sorry," Poseidon said lowly. "I'm sorry I haven't been there…I'm sorry I can't do any more than what I can…and I'm sorry about what that scum did to you…what it _planned_ to do to you. If I had known—" he choked— "Percy, if I had known, I would've—"

"It's okay, Dad. It's been handled."

Sea green eyes darkened. "Too soon and not painful enough."

"Perhaps in this life, but his afterlife? It's been handled."

Poseidon conceded to his child's argument, and so he moved on, still holding his son. "So…Christianity? But you still call me dad…"

"The Bible says to honor thy father, and so I do. What I will not do, however, is worship you in any form or fashion."

The Sea God smiled. "I'm glad," he said, "I'm glad to see what a good man you are at such a young age."

Percy _smiled_ , enjoying the praise from his father, and the warmth in his chest.

"But I'm mostly glad to see that your faith is rewarded. So many people turn to Him for aid and refuge, only to be denied."

"They're never denied, Dad. There are forces that work against God, demons, fallen angels, the Devil, just as there are forces that work against you and my aunts and uncles, and there are forces that work against the good people of this world. It's a tactic of the wicked, working from the shadows to sabotage the righteous, to destroy the balance of peace, and create dissent on the earth."

"My goodness," Poseidon said. "Strong-willed, devout, skilled in battle, intelligent, and a philosopher…all at the age of twelve. Your Lord has truly blessed me."

"He's your Lord too," Percy said casually, "and it's not philosophy. Merely an observation of the true nature of reality."

"You will lead a good life my son, I know it." And then Percy felt the sadness that enveloped his father. "Although I fear it may be cut shorter than what anyone but your enemies would want."

"What makes you think that?"

The Assassin felt his father considering something, before the man sighed. "During World War II, the previous children of the Big Three, Hitler, Stalin, Eisenhower, and Churchill, tore this world apart, as I'm sure you know. After the War was ended, my brothers and I made a pact to never have demigod children again, because they were too powerful. However, a prophecy was issued, long ago, one that said one of our children would bring about great destruction to this world, or great salvation…at the cost of their life."

Silence hung in the air at Poseidon's revelation, before it was shattered by Percy's light-hearted chuckle.

"Son? I just told you you're gonna die one day."

"Oh, Dad," Percy smiled, "we're all going to die one day, even you. Nothing lasts forever, not even false gods. Letting life be dictated by a false prophet is no way to live, and I'm not going to live that way. When God deems it to be my time, then it will be, and when that happens, I will be mourned—hopefully—but I'll be remembered with fondness as well…hopefully."

Poseidon stared down at the raven head in between his arms, stunned at the words he heard, flabbergasted at how positive his child was. "Percy, you've grown into a fine young man in such a short amount of time that it fills me with as pride as it does sadness. You're my son, and yet I've not done a thing for you since you were born."

"Dad, you've done the greatest thing a father can ever do for his child."

"What's that?"

"Give them life."

Poseidon choked on a sob, before invoking his divine power to prevent himself from crying or sobbing further. In a further attempt at keeping his emotions and his tears at bay, the Sea God tried to lighten the mood by changing topics.

"So…don't think I haven't notice the little sparks between you and the daughters of Hecate and Athena~."

"…Dad."

"I also know about your brief tenure as a girl, and I have to say, you were just the spitting image of your beautiful mother."

"…Dad…"

"I mean, mm-mm- _MM_. I was so proud to see my little girl all grown up and saving the world already, and I was just—OH! I was just so proud of you~!"

"Dad! STOP. IT."

Poseidon chuckled, getting the laughs out of his system before seriousness set back unto him.

"In all seriousness, though, Percy. I want you to know that I love you. Whether you're a boy or a girl, or something in between or something entirely different, I want you to know that you're my child, and you'll always be my child, and I will always love you."

"I love you, too, Dad."

After so many decades, it felt unbelievably good to say those words again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy knew that he was needed back at Camp for a status report, and he knew he had a meeting due with the Modern Brotherhood at Central Park, but before he went to do any of that, he went to the Upper East Side. He went home.

Finally, he could see his mother again, and he _wanted_ to see her again. Exiting the elevator and entering the hallway, Percy actually ran down the space, eager to see her, and eager to deal with the walrus. He found the door slightly ajar and the apartment a ransacked mess.

His elation died like a flame, and dead seriousness enveloped him. It smelled like a corpse—and for good reason. Gabe and his three buddies were dead, all mutilated. Gunshot holes, knife wounds, canine bite marks…their deaths had not been painless ones. By the look of the apartment, there seemed to have been a major struggle.

Using Eagle Vision, Percy scanned everywhere, seeing things and items highlighted in gold, ghostly images of men in combat gear, gas masks on their faces…and a fat man in a purple suit dragging his mother away by the hair.

The Assassin whipped around to follow the apparitions, and then came face to face with the most handsome man he had ever seen.

"You've caught my attention just as you caught my father's. Let's see how much faith you truly have in him, Son of Adam."

The man's pupils went sideways, like that of a ram's, and then Percy knew only darkness. Before he lost total awareness of his senses, he heard the man say one more thing.

"Let the Test of Job commence."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 ** _And I'm evil, just like the guys that killed Gabe and co., just like the fat guy in the purple suit who took Sally (whoever could that have been?), and just like that handsome man that knocked Percy under (whoever could THAT have been, honestly?)._**

 ** _For clues as to just what I have in mind for the coming arc, Google 'Sporus.' That will give you some ideas as to what's going on with the fat man in the purple suit. As to what the handsome man is going to do at the end of all this, Google 'Amon: Darkside of Devilman.' You should be entertained._**

 ** _Also, it's my birthday tomorrow, and if you don't believe me, you can look at all the Reviews for Chapter 8 of_** **Son of Jashin** ** _._** **So, if anyone wants to give me a birthday present, Review!** ** _That being said, expect a birthday present from me to all of you sometime soon, as I know a cliffhanger like this is torture._**

 ** _Fav, Follow, and Review!_**


	28. The Beast and the Demon Hero

_The Beast and the Demon Hero_

 _ **Thanks guys for all your good wishes! My birthday was a blast, and the party is this weekend, so the fun ain't over yet!**_

 _ **This is my thank you gift to y'all, but it will be the last chapter for a while, as it is time for the other two to receive their time in the spotlight.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucy casually sidled up to Zoё, who was cleaning her knives. "Hey, Zoё, watch this."

The four thousand year old witch snapped her fingers, and the knives gained imaged to them of a certain afternoon regarding Ares' shield. Other Hunters, having seen the brief interaction, all gathered to see what was going on. The images in the knives became superimposed, and holographic.

At the end of the show, Zoё was literally ripping trees out of the ground, and throwing them a good, solid hundred feet, screaming about how she was going to kill the war god. Lucy found this to be a right humorous spectacle, and grinned jovially from the shadows of a tree that had yet to be uprooted.

Cheyenne had been a good, bloody girl, in Lucy's opinion; not on the level of Asteria, or Shin'en's Sachiko, but good and bloody nonetheless. And when Lucy said bloody, she wasn't talking about the English curse word, she was talking about blood, actual blood. Cheyenne had been a marvelous killer, a crack shot with her guns, skilled with the knives on her wrists, and an expert at disarming one of their own sword and then using it against them.

Honestly, if Zoё hadn't been the one tapping Cheyenne's cute little ass, Lucy would've aged herself up and got to work on it herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Unknown_

When Percy woke up, he wanted to go back to sleep. He felt sick, he felt hot, he felt like mush, he felt miserable, he felt like he was freezing, he felt like he had a fever, he felt like his brain was liquid, and his skin felt like constriction paper.

"Oh, Percy…"

The words barely reached him, and they were muffled and muddled, like he was underwater, and the person speaking was doing so from above. The groggy demigod felt someone tap his cheek, and each blow might as well have been a punch from a cold brick. His skin was left feeling on fire, and seemingly melting.

"Well, this is counterproductive. Let's wake you up, shall we?"

And then suddenly, every ailment Percy felt vanished, and he became hyperaware. He was tied to a chair, his feet and arms bound by something he couldn't break, even with all his strength. His ears felt heavy, and shaking his head gave the sensory input that lead to the conclusion that he was wearing earrings. Expensive ones. It also felt like he was wearing a dress, and looking down revealed that he was indeed, wearing a dress, a turquoise one that looked like royalty would be hard-pressed to afford, and his hair...those were extensions.

His face also felt different. Based on everything else, Percy concluded that he was wearing makeup. Further, considering that his nether regions felt constricted in a way similar to how Vergil's had been when the only underwear available for men was a leather thong...Percy didn't want to dwell further on that subject.

He was in an ornate room, a big one, one complete with a chandelier made of crystal, a grand piano, a complicated desk of a design that would've had Annabeth fawning all over it, a floor that was designed in a way that Percy remembered seeing in the likes of the Vatican, the Panthéon, the Castello, and other grand institutions of Rome. In fact, this entire penthouse-sized office-looking space was designed just like something out of Rome. There even statues, statues of-

Percy's eyes narrowed. He recognized that face, those busts. Those were likenesses of Nero. Those were the likenesses of the man that had taken his mother.

Then Percy focused on the one that had woken him up. "Lucifer."

The Devil smiled warmly. "Correct. I trust you want to know what's going on here."

…

"I'll take your silence as a yes. I trust you know of Job, and his test of faith at my hands via ailments of an increasingly severe nature."

"And you're going to do the same to me."

"Well, not directly. That job falls to the Beast, or at least, the fat fool who deigns to call himself that."

"How is Nero still alive? He should've been dead centuries ago."

Satan just grinned at the boy.

"He made a deal with you."

"More like I made a deal with him. He gets immortality, and I get a useful tool to use in my crusade of turning everyone on this rock away from our Father. Fun times, but I digress.

"Our Father has given me permission to put you through the Test of Job, in which He will allow me to allow Nero to do things to you. What things are, I'm sure you can guess. Have you ever heard of Sporus?"

Of course Percy had heard the story of Sporus. He had been personally tutored by the Goddess of Rome. Sporus had been a slave boy, one with feminine looks, that had looked like one of Nero's many wives. After Nero had kicked this particular wife to death and he saw Sporus, he had the young man castrated, married him and took him as his wife, and had Sporus treated as the empress, with him as the emperor. Considering his situation and what Lucifer was hinting at, Percy paled.

The Devil chuckled. "I've been given permission to put many men and women through the Test of Job, and only Job himself has proven resilient enough to succeed. Most people can't get past the first affliction, though I do have high hopes for you, little brother."

Satan chuckled again. "Oh, Ares is going to be so jealous of Nero...do keep in mind that the fat fool has your mother held hostage, so I suggest being very receiving to what's about to happen to you. And remember: I'm going to do everything I'm allowed to make you curse our Father. Should you hold out, the rewards will be...great."

The Morning Star walked to the window, and stared out over the cityscape of wherever this was, musing.

"Admittedly, this story could have passed with a T-rating. Blood wasn't too heavy, language has been mild, although I do suppose the religious elements and the deep conversations over philosophy and our Father have been mature, so I suppose that contributes to the M-rating, but this chapter…" Percy had no idea what the Adversary was talking about, but he could feel the evil smile from where he sat bound.

"This chapter is going to _shatter_ the rating system." Satan chuckled for the final time in this meeting. "Warning: the rest of this chapter is rated MA for nonconsenting sexual content, crimes against humanity, disturbing images, drug usage, pedophilia, and intense blood and gore...continue at your own risk. Consider it something of a preview for the Blood War arc in _Backup Plan_."

Satan turned around, his eyes on fire. "Now, as you were."

Then Percy was struck by every affliction he had when he was first awoken.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nero had been in the neighborhood for another Sporus. His Sporuses always had to be boys, because girl Sporuses were just nasty, with their bacteria-filled vaginas, bleeding all over the place, and just the _look_ of them, with that flabby skin hanging all over the place...reminded Nero of a sloppily made Arby's sandwich.

No, no. The Beast much preferred the high-and-tight anus of a boy. Easier to manage, too.

Anyway, the god-emperor had been in the market for another Sporus, and he had been combing through the rosters of Camp Jupiter, Camp Half-Blood, Hotel Valhalla, and the other divine institutions about the world (Sporus could never be a mortal, because mortals exploded after a single load of Nero's divine spunk), when he happened across a news report, and he struck motherfucking _gold_.

Son of Poseidon, a perky little cutie, and on top of all that, a devout. _Christian_.

Nero giggled madly to himself every time he thought of the catch he had landed. A child of the Big Three was something to be proud of having, because those children were always beautiful, always powerful, and always nice and _tight_. Nero loved those kinds of boys the best, Greek ones born of the loins of Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades, and he had had a Sporus or two from one of those fool gods in the past (ones from Poseidon were the best, because a bucket of water had them revitalized and up for infinite sex), but never before had Nero had a Sporus from the Big Three that was _Christian_.

Nero loved the Christians. He loved the smell they made as they were burned alive; he loved the way they sounded when they burned; he loved how the cried and screamed for their god to save them, only for nothing to happen; he loved getting their panties in a twist over the tiniest things; and he loved turning the world against the religious idiots.

Seriously, it had been a pet project of his for several decades now to turn the people of America against the church, and he had made great progress. He had people in government pushing both anti-religious and religious-restricting laws, and he had been the one to start the entire LGBT movement, funding them with his own money, because nothing got under the modern church's skin better than the gays.

Nero didn't like to brag, but he had been the one behind Roe vs Wade, and he had plans made for transgender bathrooms, transgender rights movements, legalizing gay marriage, and so much more. Just so he could fuck with the church. It was amusing to him.

Little Perseus being Christian was unprecedented, and Nero was going to take his time enjoying this one. It was no doubt going to be bad enough for the new Sporus, adjusting to her new life as his darling little wife, but like all before her, she would adapt. It was simply going to be so much more fun as she desperately clung to that little faith of hers, and that vain hope that her impotent god would deliver her.

Now, Nero's new Sporus needed a new name, as Sporus was simply a designation, and the first Sporus had been renamed Spora, because Nero was not going to marry a wife with a man's name. Hmm, let's see...feminine names that started with P, and had something of a relation to the name Percy, or Perseus…

Persephone was overused.

Penelope was decent, but every time Nero thought of the word Penelope, he thought of Christina Ricci with the pig's nose in the movie _Penelope_.

Penny sounded ridiculous.

Petunia was the name of a bitch from _Harry Potter_.

Patricia sounded like the name a fat person would have.

Persia sounded really good to Nero, but for a reason he couldn't explain, the name sounded used.

The Beast pondered and pondered, running through every name he could recall in his extensive memory, before he got snagged on one, one that made him grin in excitement and contentedness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nero approached his office, all smiles and charms. Standing in front of his door was a young woman, a daughter of Aphrodite he had picked up from the street three years ago for the sole purpose of preparing his next Sporus. The girl was a quiet thing, shy, timid, but that came with growing up abandoned on the streets, using her natural charm and her little body to get money and food.

Her name was Valentina Diaz.

When she saw her Lord approaching, she straightened, pointed her eyes towards the ground, clasped her hands in front of her, and failed to steady her heart rate. It was adorable to Nero how the fifteen-year-old daughter of Aphrodite would get flustered and nervous in his presence. Granted, the threat of the Beast's unleashing at any instance was good motivation to always perform above and beyond.

Nero smiled warmly and spread his arms. "Tina~," he drew out like a father greeting his daughter after a long time. He hugged her, and she hesitantly hugged him back, a nervous smile on her pretty face. "And how is our newest member of the family doing?"

"H-He's doing well, my-"

" _She_ ," Nero corrected softly yet firmly, " _she_ is doing well. If we are to remake our newest family member, and bring her into her proper state, we're going to have make her rethink everything about herself, and the first step to doing that is to make her think of herself as female, and the first step to doing that is to use female pronouns. Do you understand, my child?"

"Y-Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent, child, excellent. Be sure to remember that, or the Beast might get just a little," Nero set his face into a pensive expression, making himself look fearful of the possibilities as well, "too active to be controlled…"

Valentina stiffened and whimpered.

"But that won't ever happen if we do a good job, yes?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Good. Now, go attend to your other duties. I believe Meg is due to awake from her nap soon."

"Yes, my Lord."

Valentina Diaz scampered down the hallway, and Nero watched her go. "She's a good kid." Then he clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, a sadistic, perverted smile on his face. "Now, let us get to work on training my new Sporus."

666

Percy only distantly heard the opening and closing of the door; his senses were far too preoccupied with the feelings of fever and sickness. However, when someone tilted his chin up and he saw the fat man with the reddish hair, he became well again. He snarled.

" _Nero_."

"Ah, so you know of me. Well, I am impressed. Do you know why you're here, Priscilla?"

Percy ignored that last word. "You want to rape and brainwash me into being your wife, like you did to Sporus."

He could tell this threw the former emperor for a loop, because his fat features lost their composure and became the countenance of shock, but it was quickly covered up. "Not at all, Priscilla. However, your response means I can correct your erroneous conceptions."

"Oh, this should be good."

Nero smiled. "Sporus was a boy left to die on the streets after being used to the contentment of the Praetorian Guard, Guards that I had swiftly executed-"

"Burned alive."

Nero nodded like this was truly a travesty. "Yes, their transgressions awoke the Beast, and, well, they paid the price."

"Of course they did. You were at Sporus was raped."

"Yes, and I found him on one of my walks, slowly bleeding to death. Being the good emperor that I am, I rescued him, nursing him back to health-"

"With the odd blowjob here and there, right?"

Nero frowned deeply, displeased with this blatant disrespect. "I advise caution, Priscilla." He placed a hand to his temple, like he was fighting off a migraine, "The Beast is...getting difficult to control."

"Then pull yourself together, you fat tub of lard."

That did it.

The Beast roared, his skin chili-red, his eyes expelling smoke, his fingernails transforming into black claws, and his teeth turning into needle-like razors. The Beast throttled Perseus, ruining his makeup, then, with another roar, he threw the child, still bound in the chair, across the room, and into a statue. The chair and the bindings held.

Percy glared at the approaching demon, even as blood dripped down from somewhere on his skull and into his face.

" **Nero wishes to treat you like an empress, with love and respect, like a wife. I just want to use you as you're meant to be used: a hole which I can use to satisfy myself with. However, this is also an opportunity for teaching. Today's lesson: how to deflower a virgin."**

The Beast waved his hand, and Percy's clothes were torn to shreds, the chair disappeared, he jerked into a standing position, and then he was bent over, his hands involuntarily gripping the statue in front of him. The demigod felt the heavy thumps of the approaching demon, and he closed his eyes. His whole body tensed when a pair of much larger hands clasped over his own, a great weight settled on his back, something pressed against him, and he felt hot breath next to his ear.

" **Go ahead and pray to your impotent** _ **god**_ **. He will do** _ **nothing**_ **to save you, for you are in** _ **my**_ **territory now."** The Beast exhaled slowly. **"Try to loosen up. I'd prefer not to get** _ **stuck**_ **."**

And then the screaming began.

666

The Beast let Percy collapse to the ground, a rush of blood spilling from him.

" **Now that was satisfying. I look forward to the next time."**

The red-skinned abomination shuddered and changed, turning back into Nero. The fat bastard sniffled and choked on a sob. "I-I didn't want it to come to this, Priscilla, but you...b-but your insistence on jabs and jeers…"

Nero took a deep breath. "The Beast is a fickle creature, easily offended, and quick to anger, and when he is angered...it is so hard to keep him reined in. I fear that with each passing day, my control of him slips further and further from my grasp. Please, my wife, do not bring his wrath upon you again like that. I'm sorry, but I must go now, there are other matters that need my attention."

Before the god-emperor could exit his spacious office, he heard the sound of slow moving, and turned his head to look over his shoulder. Priscilla had hauled herself up to sit and lean against the base of the statue, a pool of blood around her that was steadily becoming bigger.

"If that's the best you can do, lard-ass...passing the Test is going to be easier...than I imagined...my mom used to spank me harder than that…"

"...indeed," Nero said quietly. Then he composed himself and exited his office. Outside, Valentina was waiting for him, looking positively frightened. Nero put on his 'devastated' face in a flash.

"My Lord...did she...the Beast...I heard…"

Tears fell from the emperor's eyes. "I tried so hard to keep him under control, but Priscilla she...she's fighting her new life, her better life, and she angered the Beast, and brought down his wrath. I tried-" Nero choked- "I tried _so hard_...but her tongue...his anger…"

Valentina rushed to comfort her grieving lord, embracing his round body as much as she could. "Oh, my Lord. Don't feel too bad. Priscilla is young, and not yet mature enough to handle her wifely duties. Give her time, and she'll be better. I promise."

"You can promise that?" Nero asked, amazed.

The daughter of Aphrodite beamed, eager to please. "Yes. I have compiled several hypnotic sessions for Priscilla. By the end of the week, she'll be more than ready for her marriage. She'll be looking forward to it."

"Truly? That's wonderful! And the day that she truly accepts the better life I offer her, will be the most wondrous day ever!"

Valentina giggled, amused with her Lord's childlike excitement. "Yep! Now you run along and take care of your other things, and I'll take care of Priscilla."

"Valentina," Nero said, honey slathering his words, "you are truly an amazing gift."

She blushed at the praise. When her Lord left, she entered his office, fully intent on taking care of Priscilla any way she could, and nearly gagged on the strong scent of blood. She quickly found the source, and she rushed there.

"You poor thing," she gasped. She gently stroked the unconscious boy's-no, unconscious _girl's_ makeup-ruined cheek. "This is why we do everything we can to not bring any anger or stress to Lord Nero. The threat of the Beast is too great. If you could only see how good Lord Nero is to us, and how much he sacrifices for us, you'd come to love him so much it'll hurt."

 _DRIP DRIP DRIP_

Valentina frowned when a few stray water droplets from above splashed down on Priscilla's raven locks. She looked up, and frowned deeper. The statue that the girl had been leaning against, was a marble carving of a life-size crucifixion of staggering detail. A dart board had been hung around the statue's neck, no doubt for Lord Nero's pleasure. There seemed to be a leak in the ceiling, because water was dripping down from the statue's eyes.

Like tears.

666

Valentine cleaned Percy up the best she could, eventually resorting to a quick splash of water to heal the damage done to him. She redressed him, reapplied his makeup, styled his extension-laden hair, and bound him to a new chair. Then she put the earphones on him, and started playing the hypnosis tapes, all while he was unconscious.

Considering what her Lord had in mind, and what she had been instructed to do when her Lord found a new Sporus, Valentina quickly set up multiple IVs, one to pump in the appropriate amount of nutrients, and one to pump in an excessive amount of a certain hormone: estrogen. _Lots_ of it, and not just regular mortal estrogen, but _demigoddess_ estrogen. A bit stronger and much more potent than its total mortal counterpart.

Whenever Percy was awake, the only thing he saw, as there were cups around his eyes similar to the ones used by horses when they raced that limited his field of vision, and a device around his head that kept him from moving it, was a TV playing nothing but hypnotic videos that not only wanted him to love and worship Nero like a god, but to be his lovely little wife as well.

If Percy's stomach hadn't been so regularly empty, he would've thrown up. He did dry heave a lot, though. He also wasn't as brain dead as his captors would have liked, even when he did feel like he had Strep Throat, the Flu, ear infections, a fever, extreme allergies, asthma, and pneumonia all at the same time. Because of that, he was aware that he couldn't control any water, for something very powerful was blocking his godly abilities. Most likely a spell of Nero.

Thinking of spells got Percy thinking of Lou Ellen, the rest of the Greeks, and his appointment with the Modern Brotherhood. It really annoyed him that he had missed his designated meeting time, and there were people waiting on him. He hated it when he made people wait on him.

…

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, even in the wake of sexual abuse, forced hormones, twisted hypnosis, and not having access to his powers on top of being bound to a chair while wearing a dress, Percy Jackson the Master Assassin...was worried about being late for a meeting.

In his groggy, stricken state, he vaguely heard the door open, especially against the assault of a bunch of layered and overlapping women's voices telling him to _love Nero, be Nero's,_ and to _suck on Nero's big, juicy dick_ , all at the same time. It was disorienting and annoying. Then the voices and images disappeared, as did the blinkers around his eyes, and the vice holding his head in place. He would've taken it all back in exchange for not seeing _this_ thing again.

"Greetings, Fat Bastard. Come for my ass again?"

If there was one definite change in Percy's mental faculties, it was that the barrier of Not Cursing had been shattered.

Nero sighed despondently, his smile dropping. "Now that wasn't very nice, Priscilla, especially after I come to make sure you are comfortable. You are my fiancé after all, and far be it for to make sure my future wife is not receiving the best care in the world."

"Oh, blow it out your _dhni shythul_ , lard-ass."

Nero frowned, his eyes losing that false light of cordiality. "You know, I've about had it with that mouth of yours, Priscilla. Young ladies shouldn't speak like that. I think it's time I did something about your facial orifice."

The god emperor undressed his lower half, undoing the buckle on his belt, the button of his trousers, and then the unzipping of his zipper might as well have been a cannon blast. He lowered his underwear, a jockstrap, and pulled his member free. He promptly stroked it into full mast.

"Don't think I don't know about what Lucifer is doing here. The Test of Job and all that. I know that the Beast took your anal virginity...and I'm going take your oral. Open up. Now."

Percy kept his mouth shut and his head down, glaring at Nero from under the curtain of his extended bangs.

The god-emperor turned purple in fury, and he throttled Percy, wringing his neck like a rag.

"You little **SHIT**! Have you forgotten that I have your mother held captive!? I can **KILL HER**! I won't even have to press a button or make a call, I can kill her with a **FUCKING THOUGHT**! And don't think I'll stop with her, either. I'll wipe out that camp! I'll erase the Assassins and the Templars! I'll go after every Christian on this planet, and have them fucking **BURNED** alive! I'll even go after your little **FRIENDS**!

"If you think Lou Ellen's William's situation bad, I'll have her fucking **ARMS AND LEGS** _cut off_ , and have her tongue **CUT OUT**! That way she can't wipe her own ass or even get to the bathroom by herself, nor use any magic to do it for her! She'll be completely dependent on her diapers, and on someone to make sure she doesn't get a fucking **RASH**!

"And don't think I'll ignore the others, Annabeth, Grover, Charles, and that dog, Kira. I'll make Annabeth so retarded, she'll think everyone shits chocolate, and she'll go out of her way to **EAT IT**! And the enchilada-loving satyr...I'll feed him so many enchiladas his stomach will explode, and then I'll create the biggest landfill on this planet, and dump his corpse in there, to **ROT WITH THE GARBAGE**! Then I'll the son of Hephaestus cut open, and have all his limbs and vital organs replaced with machinery, making him my personal cyborg **SLAVE**! Finally, that puppy...I'll have it _beaten to death_ , then I'll revive it, and turn it back into its gangbanging black self, and have him **RAPE** Annabeth and Lou till their assholes are puking **BLOOD**! _**DON'T! TEST! ME!"**_

Percy's face was coated in spittle. Nero's red face and getting-red body suddenly returned to their tan color, and he took a breath to calm himself.

"So please, sweetheart...open up for your husband before he gets mad with you again."

With his eyes closed and his mouth set in a thin line, Percy slowly opened his jaws.

"Good girl, and don't even think about biting," With that, Nero eased himself inside, and moaned at the warmth. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle for your first time-you won't even have to do anything. I'll do the work for you, tonight, but eventually, I will expect you to not only be able to do this yourself, but ask for it."

Nero got to work, and Percy kept his jaws as wide as possible, wide to the point where it hurt, and even then, he was still being stretched. The bastard had a large girth.

"You're lucky I was able to keep the Beast in check, otherwise this would be much more painful, and much rougher."

Nero kept thrusting away. "Hm, I can see you're having trouble staying open. We'll fix that eventually."

The god-emperor continued his violation, and he smirked after a while. "I just realized that you're doing your good Christian duty, making sacrifices for the betterment of others."

Then he grunted repeatedly, like an animal, and he came, and he pinched Percy's nose shut. "Swallow, or I'll do everything to your friend's that I said I would, _and_ I'll make you lick up what you spill."

666

It would be hours later, when Nero returned, depriving Percy of sleep.

"Part of a good marriage is having deep conversations with meaning to them, and since you're a Christian and I simply hate Christians, I think this a great opportunity to have our first debate. I'll start." Nero cleared his throat.

"This god you believe in is a fake. Look at the world today. Children starving in Africa, poverty, sickness, war, disease, and he just lets it all happen. The Bible says he's this all-loving, all-powerful, benevolent being, and yet he sits on his ass, watching as the world goes to shit. I think that means he's either malignant, or he's simply the figment of imagination that he is."

Nero smiled. "Your turn."

Percy remained silent, head bowed, upper face hidden by his hair.

Nero frowned. "Priscilla, if you don't play along, I'm going to bring your mother in here, let her see what you have become, and then I'll kill her right in front of you."

A faint smirk, and the voice that came out of the mouth that spoke was...higher, than what it should have been. An effect of the excess amounts of estrogen.

"Oh, Nero. Your arguments are pointless here. Nothing you ever say, and nothing you ever do is going to make me waver. There is no argument that you've thought up in the past two thousand years that I haven't already found a counter for. All you do is preach to the choir when talking to me. Honestly, it's like listening to a broken record machine: _Oh, God's not real because bad stuff happens_. _Oh_ , _God's not real because space. Oh, God's not real because I'm doing fine without going to church. Oh, God's not real because science, logic_. I've heard it been said for over eighty years, and I'll hear for another thousand.

"That's the nature of the world. There will always be religious people, and there will always be nonreligious people. There will always be a battle between them, a battle over who is right and who is wrong. The battles will be fought with words, and when frustrations reach their peak, the battles will be fought with sticks and stones. Although, considering the tribulations the ancient Christians faced, being burned alive and fed to animals for entertainment, I think some hateful words from the Internet, and some celebrities with opinions is very manageable.

"However, I must apologize, _dear husband_ , for I have not yet actually deigned to counter your opening statement. I now step off my soapbox and return to reality. Ahem."

Percy's eyes bore deep into Nero's.

"God works every day to fix those problems, but he doesn't simply snap his fingers and fix them all instantly because that's not how he works. We call him Father in our prayers because he is our parent, and a parent is not supposed to solve all of their children's problems with haste. A parent watches silently and helps along the way, being the guiding hand of nurturing and firmness, letting their child stumble and fall, making mistakes, and then letting them learn how pick themselves up and clean up the mess. If a parent was constantly solving their child's problems themselves, the child would never learn and never grow, and would be dependent on their parent always. That is the reality of those on this earth.

"And then there are people like you, people who have slapped away the hand of your Father, and are content with the mess they've found themself in, content with trying to solve it themself, and succeeding in only making things worse. You asked why God, with all his infinite power doesn't fix everything? That's because he is doing it how a Father does it, and you are rejecting him, actively working against him. So, _husband_ , what does it feel like to be root cause of every problem the people of God's creation face on a daily basis?"

Nero was frowning, deeply, so deep, in fact, that his eyes were hidden by the shadows cast by the sockets of his skull. Then he exhaled, and rose to his feet, and he spoke lowly.

"Quite the speech. Given time, I would make a counter argument, but I'm afraid that my patience has run out tonight. Your talking vexes me; those will be the last words you will speak until I say otherwise."

666

He was back on the hormones, back on the hypnosis, and back on the feelings of sickness, only the ailments felt much worse. He couldn't focus, he couldn't think, he was so hot that blood was slowly dripping from his nose, and sweat was pouring down his face, ruining his makeup no doubt, not that he cared nor was wholly aware. The dress felt like sandpaper against his skin, and his skin felt like it was on fire. He was trembling and shaking in the chair, his legs aching from disuse. They had broken his jaw, and after making it a certain width, they had fit in a ball gag roughly the size of an apple to stretch his mouth out, so that he could accommodate his husband's full girth.

How long had it been? Hours? Days? Decades? Months? Centuries? Years? He couldn't tell. Had there been a wedding? Was there drinking and partying? Had there been sex? He couldn't tell, he couldn't remember, he wasn't feeling anything but pain and agony.

What was his name again? Perseus, or was Priscilla? Or was it Faris, or was it Vergil? Or Ezio? Or Claudia? Or was Giovanni, or Christina, or Maria? Who were those people anyway? What were they to him? Was he even a _he_? Or was he a _she_?

What did those two words even mean, anyway?

However, in all these questions, there was one that he had an answer to. What was the Lord's Prayer, and the answer was thus:

Our Father who art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy name

By Kingdom come, thy Will be done

On Earth, as it is in Heaven

Give us this day, our daily bread

And Forgive us for our Trespasses

As we Forgive those who Trespass against us

Lead us not into Temptation

But Deliver us from Evil

For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power

And the Glory, Forever and Ever

Amen.

666

Sally didn't know what was going on, but she did know that Gabe was dead, her home had been destroyed, she had been kidnapped (again), this time by a fat man in a purple suit with a chinstrap beard. Then she had been locked in a what amounted to a three-star hotel room, brought food at certain increments, was allowed to watch TV, play games, and have any reading material of her choice brought to her, but she wasn't allowed to leave, or have company.

That was all well and fine, except for one glaring issue:

 _WHERE WAS HER BABY!?_

Sally knew she had been taken to the Underworld, she knew her son had been sent on a quest, and she knew he had succeeded in said quest, and while she had an idea as to why she appeared in her apartment without preamble, she had done so when her son _wasn't home_ , and based on the amount of scratches Sally had put in the wall, it had been almost _three months_ since her arrival here, and there hadn't been hide nor hair of her little boy, and as any self-respecting mother could attest, that phenomenon was a massive _NEGATIVE GHOSTRIDER_.

However, that would change today.

Sally's door opened, and it was the fat man himself. "I must apologize, madam, for I never introduced myself. I am Emperor Nero, and I will be marrying your daughter today."

The mother had no idea what any of that meant, but she got the gist of it, and lunged. She was frozen mid-step, but she retained her ability to speak, and so she roared. " _What have you done to my son!?"_

Nero smiled like having a conversation with an old friend. "Merely helped her realize that she was a girl living in a boy's body, and brought out her true self. In gratitude, she wanted to become my wife, and she wanted you to be there for the ceremony today. She's very excited. Come, come, I'll take you to her."

Sally held her tongue through the journey, but she was killing Nero in increasingly inventive ways in her head.

They soon came across a pair of large doors, and when opened, bright, yet soft lights came on, and Sally saw someone sitting in a chair, their back turned away towards the entrance, meaning they were facing the large slew of windows. The long, beautiful black hair and the tanned skin reminded Sally of her son, but the length of it, and the dress they were wearing.

"Go on," Nero encouraged, "say hi to your daughter."

Sally felt movement return to her, and she sprinted around to the front of the child sitting in the chair. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her screams. It was her son, there was no doubt about that, but he was _wrong_. His eyes were wide and blank, his face was dolled up, his hair was just as long as Sally's own, amethyst earrings dangled from his earlobes, and his body...he was emaciated, almost anorexic, and he looked heavily atrophied, but none of that compared to his upper chest, and the set of breasts that adorned them.

Sally slowly turned a horrified gaze to Nero. "What...what did you...what have you _done_ to him…?"

"Like I said," the emperor said happily. "I helped her come into her proper body."

Sally looked back at her blank-eyed child, then back to Nero...then back to her son...back to Nero...her son...Nero...Sally screamed and rushed. Nero smirked and intercepted by her neck, and hoisted her off the ground. She kicked and she clawed, but her attacks were not very effective.

"Oh, Priscilla~," Nero sang; she whipped her head around and looked at the fat man. "Watch _this_."

The god-emperor squeezed, a loud crack was heard, and Sally went rigid...before falling limp. Nero dropped her to the floor, and her head rolled limply, connected to her body only through skin and muscle. Her tear-filled eyes locked with the wrong face of her son, who was still looking at Nero. Nero pointed down at Sally, and her son's blank gaze slowly moved down to meet her fading.

She could feel the blood pooling in her neck, obstructing the airflow, choking her. She croaked, tears falling from her eyes, "I love you, Percy."

Her death was slow and filled with primal panic as she choked on her own blood, staring into the blank eyes of her child in the vain hope that he would respond and say 'I love you too.' It never happened. As she died, Sally despaired over what had happened to her son, and she knew terrible fury for Nero.

666

He stared blankly at the dead woman on the ground, her eyes lifeless and void of anything. What she had said, what she had done...why? Why had she done that, why had she said that? What did she say, anyway?

'I love you, Percy.'

Percy...that name was familiar.

Percy…

Percy…

Percy…

 _...PERCY_

His pupils, large and unseeing, dilated to the size of pinpricks and became focused.

"NERO! You BASTARD! NERO! NERO!"

The god-emperor laughed. "Ah, you're awake. I was worried that you had been lost completely, and broken beyond repair."

Percy snarled viciously. "I'm going to _murder you_."

"Oh, come now, Priscilla. You of all people should know that this is all God's fault. He's telling Satan what he can and can't do, and in turn, he's telling me what I can and can't do. So, in essence, I'm told to do all this by your God."

Nero smiled.

"Can't you see he's forsaken you? Can't you see that you're in my hands, now and forever? Can't you see it's by his hand that all these things have happened to you?"

Percy glared furiously. "Not his hand; _yours_. After this is over, I'm going to come for you, and _end you_."

Nero was frowning again. "Calm yourself, Priscilla. Our wedding is soon, and I would hate for the Beast to-"

"SHUT UP! Shut. Up. With your Beast bullshit! It's you! It's always been you, and it will always be _you_! You've just deluded yourself into thinking there's a difference, meaning you're so incredibly _stupid_ , that you managed to split your own psyche in half." Percy grinned deviously.

"Then again, any god who has the power to alter his form at will but chooses to look like a tub of lard is obviously a few chromosomes short of being a functional organism. What happened? Inhale too many fumes from your burning victims, or did your brain get knocked loose when Satan thrusted into your saggy butt?"

The Beast roared, and threw Percy clean across the room yet again. The he picked up Sally's corpse and ripped it in half, spraying blood all over the floor. Like a child throwing a tantrum, the Beast whipped Sally's halves about, slamming them down about the entire room, before he slung them around in opposite directions. The upper half smacked against the wall, and then fell next to Percy's face.

The Beast stormed out of his office. Valentina was there, trembling and scared.

"M-My L-Lord-!"

" **Triple it! All of it! The hypnosis, the drugs, the hormones! I want her broken and begging for my dick by the end of tomorrow!"**

"But, the levels she's already on...anymore could have lethal effe-"

SHLCH

" **NEXT!"**

Another servant scurried from somewhere.

" **You heard what I want done, slave. So do it, and clean this filth up! It's staining my floor."**

The Beast stormed down the hallway, his rage palpable. In all this, the slaves of Nero could only find fault in Priscilla, for it was she who had angered the Beast, and their Lord had tried valiantly to keep the Beast chained, only to fail for the rage of the Beast towards what Priscilla had said and done had been too great.

666

"What game do you think you're playing at? You know very well that Percy would never be tempted by you."

"Of course I know that. However, it's never been about breaking him or making him. It's been about...changing him."

"Lucifer," the robed man said warningly.

"Oh, come now. You've found favor in him, just as I've found favor as well. He has your blessing, and I intend to give him mine."

"What are you planning?"

"Uh-oh. Is that omniscience failing you?"

"You're blocking me."

"Well, yes. Us higher level divinities do have the power to screw with each other."

"What are you planning?" he asked again.

Satan smiled. "Let me answer in that indirect way you're so fond of. This is a DelayedInspiration fanfiction. In these things, you can expect three constants: the first, is some form of gender dysphoria, typically coming in the form of crossdressing, or gender bending; the second, in some form or fashion, is diapers, either through a punishment, medical affliction, or because someone likes to wear them because reasons. The first two have been covered, with Lou Ellen Williams turning Percy into a girl, and Lou Ellen being subject to eternal bed-pissing. And that leaves the third constant."

"Which is?"

"OP badassery."

666

The Devil had to admit: Priscilla looked absolutely _stunning_ in this wedding dress. Alas, the fun and games were over. With a blink of his eyes, the handmaidens tending to the heavily drugged and mentally modified demigod burst into ash.

"Priscilla~," he sang.

She slowly turned around, her entire body shaking and jittering as if standing in the cold. Her pupils were wide, and her eyes seemed to vibrate in their sockets. The bouquet in her hands trembled from her inability to hold still. Now, one might be thinking all this was from fear that stemmed from watching people spontaneously combust, but no. Priscilla's rapid, jittery movement was a symptom of far too many drugs in her system, and her body trying to fight them out.

"While watching you run circles around Nero with your words has been one of the greatest forms of entertainment I've had since the Holocaust, it is now time to conduct business. Come closer to me, child."

With unsteady steps, the now-thirteen-year-old, heavily drugged son of Poseidon, dazedly walked to Satan, not knowing a thing about what was going on. Nero had done an effective job in emptying out her head, and filling it back up with nothing but the utmost obedience.

Satan gently put his hands on the bride's shoulders, and looked down into her unfocused eyes. "You have done well in these trials. Your anal and oral virginity was taken, your dignity, your identity, and your body taken, your mother taken, and your freedom was taken. You were touched by myself and by Nero, and yet your faith never wavered. Here is your reward."

The Devil gripped Priscilla's little head between his hands, and then he exhaled a violent stream of fire right into the child's face. She flailed and screamed, but no sound she made could compare to the roaring of the flames. The stream was cut off, finally, and Satan let her drop to the floor, writhing in agony as the flame glowed beneath her ash-stained dress.

Lucifer smiled down at the in-agony child. "Congratulations. Your reward is to be the host of demonkind's greatest hero. Please, try not to kill _too_ many people. Hell is becoming overcrowded with nonbelievers."

He vanished, and immediately did Percy start screaming as his body was torn to bloody shreds. From the inside out, he transformed, his skin bulging and bursting, ripping and tearing. His bones and muscles grew, warped, and were twisted. Twin horns, each no thicker than a finger and perfectly straight, longer than a foot, burst from his crown. His hair fell from his head, and his head bubbled and cracked as it expanded into a new shape. Strips of his body fell to the floor with wet slops as new matter rose from beneath to replace it, and his back bulged and expanded, before ripping apart in an explosion of blood as leathery wings erupted from within. In a scream that was never vocalized, Percy's mouth opened wider than any human jaw was capable of doing, and black smoke billowed out like steam. His teeth fell from his jaws one by one, each clattering loudly to the ground, each one replaced by a deadly fang. A long, fleshy, thorn-covered, bladed tail tore itself from the end of his spine, and danced wildly about. Finally, Percy's eyes swelled and burst clean out of his skull, and underneath them, leaking tears of blood, were new eyes, ones that were solid yellow.

The demon exhaled and rose to his feet, flexing his arms and cracking his joints.

" **I am...** _ **Amon!"**_

666

 _Woe to you oh earth and sea_

 _For the Devil sends the Beast with wrath_

 _Because he knows the time is short_

 _Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the Beast_

 _For it is a human number_

 _Its number is six hundred and sixty-six…_

666

Nero didn't have a clue as to what happened. Something bigger than a man, almost twice as big, came crashing into his chambers, and threw him out of the building, through several others buildings after that, causing mass hysteria and panic as the skyscrapers of Philadelphia came crashing down. For all the speed and force that Nero had during his sudden flight, he might as well have been shot out of a railgun.

The god-emperor growled as he got to his feet, his divine body only having sustained minor injuries despite the punishment it just took. Okay, whoever just _dared_ to touch him was about to be sent to the deepest pit of Hell and-

" **Hello, lard ass."**

Nero whirled around and fired a blast of as much divine energy as he could scrape together. There was enough power in his attack to send the likes of _Zeus_ , _Odin_ , and even _Kronos_ skidding away with terrific injuries. The subsequent explosion wiped Philadelphia clean off the map, atomizing the surrounding _hundred miles_ of landscape.

Nero straightened and dusted himself off. Well that hadn't been exactly what he had planned for today, but letting loose with some god-emperorly power was always a refreshing change of pace.

" **You pagans never cease to amuse me."** Demonic arms wrapped around Nero's entire body, and hugged him so tightly his bones audibly cracked. **"I've seen the shit you've done to my host, raping him, torturing him, abusing him, robbing him of his identity and body, and killing his mother right in front of him."**

Nero screamed as his bones were turned into powder, his body squishing in the outrageously strong arms of Amon.

" **For the crimes you've committed on this earth, your punishment will be...a quick death."** The Demon grinned at the flash of hope in the fat bastard's eyes. **"But your afterlife,"** the emperor paled at the laugh in that demonic voice, **"Nero...your suffering will be legendary even in** _ **Hell**_ **. Now, what was your favorite pastime, again? Ah yes...burning!"**

Nero squealed like the fat pig he was as Amon heated him up with demonic power, subjecting him to heat straight from the Lake of Fire. Fat broiled and bone charred, skin bubbled and muscle melted, blood steamed and organs hissed, and the air was filled with the smell of cooking meat. Nero's body gave off actual light as his molecules were heated to such a degree that they produced radiance, and then, with a squeal that reached an octave that only dogs could hear, Nero combusted in Amon's arms.

A rumble came from the demon's throat. **"Stuck in the body of a child that worships God, and is the son of a pagan...that's an oxymoron if there ever was one."** Amon stared at the black horizon with his featureless yellow eyes. **"The wheels have begun to turn, I see. The ancient forces of this earth are starting to move, prophecies beginning to play out, destinies are revealing themselves...and then there's me. I do hope you're ready,** _ **partner**_ **, for my sole purpose of being inside you is to simply corrupt you and rag you down into Hell."**

The Morning Star began to grace the earth.

" **Ah, what a fine general you will become, Destroyer."**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Well, if you made it through**_ _ **all**_ _ **of that, go and buy yourself some ice cream, and share it with your significant other, because you deserve some cuddle time.**_

 _ **Satan did say that the rest of the chapter was going to be MA, and he did give you a list of what to expect, so...yeah. He also said that everything that followed was going to be something of a preview for the Blood War, and he's not joking. The Blood War was FUCKED. UP.**_

 _ **Just like Percy's going to be.**_

 _ **Also, you might notice that this fic now has cover art, art of a demonic figure with AMON emblazoned across the front. Yeah, that's what Amon looks like. You would also do well to Google Amon: Darkside of Devilman for further images and information, and YouTube Amon: Apocalypse of Devilman for video material. But an advanced warning: it is bloody and violent, much like**_ **Berserk** _ **, so watch/read at your own risk.**_

 _ **Anyway, my birthday party is this coming Sunday, the 29th of October, in the year 2017, for those who find this fic months and perhaps even years in the future. With that happy note, I bring this long chapter to a close.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_

 _ **P.S. be on the lookout for a**_ **Green-Eyed Ghoul** _ **update...**_


	29. Nothing is True

_Nothing is True…_

 _ **It's been long enough, I believe.**_

 _ **In regards to Chapter 28, I did put in a warning. I literally told you what was going to happen. Yet you read on, heedless of my words, and still saw fit to bitch at me. Some of you, anyway.**_

 _ **To those of you that choose to no longer read this and have left, farewell. To those that have stuck around through thick and thin, enjoy the reward that is the continuation of**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **. To those that have left because they were disturbed and have come back briefly to investigate, yet will soon leave, yet are also looking forward to**_ **Backup Plan: Blood War** _ **…I fear you will not handle Shin'en's tale in the Bloody Mist.**_

 _ **Chapter 28 was but a preview of a mere facet of the Blood War. Worse is yet to come.**_

 _ **As for this chapter in particular, we cover the three-month absence of Percy Jackson, his being found post destruction of Philadelphia, and his recovery after his torture. His mind cracked, but it did not break, it did not shatter. His iron will held strong through the brainwashing and hypnosis and physical events, but even iron has its limits.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Percy Jackson or Assassin's Creed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Their arrival at Camp was rather lackluster. There wasn't a giant congregation, or massive welcoming party, though that was mainly their own fault, as they didn't announce their impending arrival to anyone.

Lou Ellen, Charles Beckendorf, Annabeth Chase, and Grover Underwood waltzed across the boundary line like they had just come back from a trip to the grocery store. The blacksmith immediately jogged off to find Silena and let her know of his safe return, the daughter of wisdom jogged off to debrief Chiron, the satyr in tow, and the witch, having exchanged found temporary goodbyes with everyone, scooped up her Husky puppy, Kira, and teleported both of them to her personal cabin hidden away in the woods and protected by nature spirits.

Immediately upon arrival, Lou put Kira down, undid her jeans, shimmied out of them, removed the tapes of her diaper, and tossed her underwear off to the side. It was dry, of course, as where Lou had no problem using her diaper if necessary, having done so dozens of times while on long car rides with her father, she still made it a point to use the toilet when she could.

With that, she disappeared into her bathroom, leaving Kira outside the door, finished her business, exited, and plopped down on her couch, her puppy quickly bounding up to snuggle into her lap, even though all she was wearing was her shirt and a bra.

Lou Ellen sighed, her discarded diaper like beacon in the corner of her eye. "I'm gonna have to put that back on tonight…"

Yes, she might have followed the same bedtime routine as a potty training toddler, meaning no fluids four hours before lights out and frequent trips to the bathroom during those four hours, and she would only wet her bed if she actually had any fluids in her, but none of that stopped her from putting on a diaper just in case.

Lou looked down at Kira, and though she knew her dog couldn't talk, that didn't stop her from talking to the puppy anyway. She just really needed to get some stuff off her chest, and it wasn't like Kira was going to think negatively of her.

"I know that millions of people across the planet wet their bed, and not just babies and toddlers and kids, but tweens and teens and adults too, but that doesn't make me feel any better about this. Yeah, I know it could be a lot worse, like Percy said, but still. Does that make me greedy, having all this power in me, with the only drawback being bedwetting, and wishing that I _didn't_ wet my bed, or is that completely natural?"

Kira looked up at Lou with her big, round, gorgeous blue eyes, her tongue out of her mouth slightly as her tail wagged uncertainly.

"Honestly though, how petty is that of me? I've got enough juice in me to light Manhattan for a month straight. I know spells that can alter time and space. I have knowledge of magic that can overcome several Greek curses. I might even be able to fight the likes of a B-list minor god to a standstill, maybe even defeat an A-lister with ample preparation and a good enough plan, and the only true hindrance, the only true balance to all that power…is a night diaper?" Lou asked incredulously to Kira. "Come on, that's got to be at least a _little_ petty, right?

"Then again," she continued with something of a dark glint in her eyes, "I've been praying to God for the past few nights to make it to where I wake up dry, and He's delivered on all but two nights out of enough. Who's to say He can't also give me my nighttime control? I mean, Percy said the God makes things that are impossible, possible, so who says God can't make me forever dry at night?

"Although," Lou mused, "will getting out of diapers in turn make me lose my powers? And is that even a fair trade? All my skills and abilities pissed down the drain just because I _might_ piss myself at night? Just for the sake of sparring myself a little bit of humiliation? And then again: who cares?"

The witch shrugged. "Who cares if I wear diapers at night? Who's gonna know? What business do they have in regards to my underwear? And if they found out…okay, so what? Millions have bedwetting problems, I'm one of them, and I wear a diaper to keep my blankets, sheets, and mattress clean, because I don't want to deal with a wet bed every morning, and if you think that's funny, then go ahead and laugh. But keep in mind the fact that I know spells that can make you poop yourself nonstop for days on end."

Lou finished her monologue with a triumphant "humph." Kira bobbed her little head too, panting happily.

Just like that, Lou Ellen Williams managed to debate with herself, win against herself, accept herself, take pride in who she was and her weirdness, and boosted her self-esteem.

"I can't wait for Percy to get back," Lou chirped excitedly. "I can't wait to tell him I finally got my butt in gear and stopped self-pitying. What about you, Kira? How are you doing?"

"Arf! Arf!"

"I couldn't agree more," Lou nodded sagely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While everyone had been away, Chiron found the time to send an Iris Message to his old Roman friend, and see if she knew anything about a Renaissance man by the name of Virgil Cavaliere.

Chiron watched as Lupa raised one of her lupine brows. "Virgil Cavaliere was a pupil of mine during the reign of the Borgias. He was a devout Christian and a good man. His father was a general and a senator, his mother a simple weaver, and he had a younger sister, all of whom were killed by the Followers of Romulus, that bastard cult, on orders from Cesare Borgia. After his family was taken from him, I took him under my paw, trained him to be an astute killer, and set him loose on Rome to take it back from the Borgia. You may have heard whispered rumors some five hundred years ago, and surely noticed the increased economy during the early 1500s."

"Yes, I did hear things and noticed the prosperity of Rome. Virgil's doing, I take it?"

"Correct."

"I also recall fondly how Venus had taken note of someone in Rome at the time and subsequently threw a hissy fit, seemingly being rejected. Also Virgil?"

Lupa smirked. "The whore goddess took the form of a seductress. As if a common lady of the night could tempt a true servant of the Lord."

"Agreed," Chiron mused.

"What brings about such a question, old friend?"

"Oh, nothing dreadfully serious, but let me ask this: what do you remember when other men blindly follow the truth?" Lupa's eyes widened, her very core shaken. Chiron just smirked and continued. "What is permitted when other men are limited by morality or law?"

"Chiron…where did—?"

" _Laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

The old centaur watched as the old wolf struggled to comprehend what he had just said, the old cogs grinding and creaking. It was an amusing sight, watching all the facial tics of a wolf. Eventually though, Lupa regained control of herself, and she settled into a neutral look, eyes asking the silent question.

"Those words were spoken to me by one of my Latin students, when I was posing as a Latin teacher at a school, on his way out my door after completing his final. Not even 48 hours later, he shows up at Camp Half-Blood, and not even a week after that, he is claimed as Poseidon's child. I trust you know of Percy Jackson?"

"Impossible," Lupa muttered. "Upon his death, Virgil should've entered Heaven, not be reincarnated."

"It gets better," Chiron continued. "In the waning years of the twelfth century, my camp came under attack by crusader knights, empowered by a magical sword that gave mere mortals enough physical ability to overpower demigods _and_ grant them resistance to our magic. We were almost wiped out that day, but our savior came wearing a white hood. After the battle, this savior, Faris Ibn La'Ahad, imparted upon me these words. What's interesting, however, is that I've only just recently been told about Virgil, where I've known about Faris since Mr. Jackson woke up in my infirmary."

"A connection between the three," Lupa gasped.

"Indeed, it seems so. A reincarnating soul, stretching from the Third Crusade, to the Renaissance, to modern times. However, I suspect that the tale of Percy Jackson does not end with that of Faris and Virgil. I suspect that there is more, more past lives."

"An incredible concept," Lupa said. "I would very much like to meet this pup."

"I'll see what can be done, but he is Greek," Chiron said warningly. "The powers at be may very well be vehemently opposed to a casual meet and greet."

"Agreed, however, there are ways around these powers. We'll figure it out, old friend."

"Indeed, we will. Now, Mr. Jackson should be arriving from his quest in no longer than three more days, and I have archery to teach. Good day, Lupa."

"Good day, Chiron."

The centaur swiped through the hologram and went to go teach his archery class.

Days after that event, Annabeth came strolling into the Big House like she was just here to grab a shirt, Grover behind her.

"Hey, Chiron."

"Hello, Annabeth." The old teacher turned the page of the book he was reading, and then it struck him. His head snapped up. "Annabeth! Grover! You've returned! Where are the others?"

"Ah, Percy went to deliver the Bolt and then he was going to go see his mom. Beckendorf went to go see Silena. Lou is off doing Lou stuff."

"I see. Come, sit. We have much to talk about. Grover, I suggest you inform the Council of your success."

"Yes, sir," the satyr nodded and left, leaving Annabeth to recount how the quest went, and all the things she had learned, such as some merits of the Bible, how strong Percy was, how strong Lou was, the witch's diaper-wearing, and how fragile the Olympians could be in the face of higher power.

"God himself," Chiron breathed when Annabeth finished telling him of Ares' apparent demise. "If He personally came to Earth, then that means that things are becoming very serious."

"Chiron?"

"Never you mind, child. Just know that Percy's birth twelve years ago heralded the unfolding of major mythological events. Just pray for a happy ending for everyone."

Annabeth's mouth set into a thin line. "About praying…Chiron, what I saw on the quest…Percy's faith, that man in the robe, the beach…I-I don't know anymore. I don't know what's real and what's not. Who do I pray to now? I've _seen_ Him, but my mother…I don't know what to do Chiron."

The daughter of Athena was on the verge of stressful tears as she struggled to find herself in this convoluted world of gods and monsters.

Chiron wheeled himself forward and gently placed his hands on Annabeth's shoulders, grounding her. "My child," he said gently, "I cannot tell you how to live your life, for that is your decision to make. However, I can tell you this: the choice to pray to God is yours. The choice to pray to Zeus and Athena is yours. Percy makes the choice to pray to God, and honor Poseidon as his father and his father alone, as the Bible dictates."

"I don't know if I'm that strong," Annabeth whispered quietly.

"Then find out," Chiron said simply. "You'll hurt no one by trying something new."

"But what if Zeus doesn't like me praying to God?"

"Well then, I guess Zeus will have to take it up with Jesus then, won't he?"

"How do I know Jesus will protect me if Zeus decides to smite me?"

"You don't," Chiron smiled. "But if you believe that Jesus is the way, and you accept him as your savior, he will never forsake you."

Annabeth's lips tried to work themselves into words, but then a shadow crossed her face, her eyes darkening. "What makes _him_ any different than _them_? We can't even trust our own godly parents to come through for us when we pray, so why should I pray to someone who's never looked after me in the first place?"

Chiron frowned. "Annabeth…you know better."

The shadow on her face lifted and she blinked rapidly. "I-I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…I didn't…that's not what I…my head hurts. I need to talk to Percy."

In his three thousand years of life, the teacher had come across religious demigods before. Always rare they were, but he had met many over the centuries. As such, he did have experience with them on how they handled their faith and their heritage, and he had experience with those that wanted to convert in the wake of these religious demigods, and he knew of that shadow across their face.

They were Greeks, hardwired with battle reflexes, inherent knowledge of how to read, speak, and write Ancient Greek. Unless taught a religion from a young age, trying to convert…didn't agree with them. The sheer act of trying to follow another religion after becoming Aware was enough to cause some magical mental damage.

What Annabeth went through was normal, and all she needed was a little bit of help.

Help that Chiron could have provided, but elected not to on account of him feeling that it was Percy's job to be the religious teacher.

"Indeed," the centaur said. "Percy is a good man. Make sure to stay friends with him, for he will carry you far."

Annabeth nodded, then she left to go say hi to Luke.

Chiron said nothing as she left, and when she was gone, the door closing behind her, and he was left alone in the Big House, he felt…dread. He felt off. He felt like something had happened, something was happening, and it spelled disaster for many.

As much as he tried, Chiron could not shake the sinking feeling of despair that engulfed him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, Percy did not return from his delivery of the Bolt, however, for the time being, doubts and worries were assuaged when Lou Ellen informed everyone that Percy was going to say hi to his mom, and then the common thought was that Percy's mother kept him for the night due to the small fact that he had been on a cross-country road trip involving some evil gods and some twisted monsters.

The burial shrouds were burned anyway, Grover's being made by his nature spirit friends, Beckendorf's by his cabin mates, Annabeth's by her cabin mates, and the last two…were rather sad, actually. Lou lived in the woods, her only company being the odd dryad, and where the nature spirits there protected it from monsters and pranksters, and she in turn helped strengthen the natural energies of the woods with her magic, there wasn't any true camaraderie between Lou Ellen and the spirits. It was a "scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" policy that could evaporate at the drop of a hat. As for Percy, he hadn't made enough friends nor enemies in any cabin for anyone to make him a shroud, even a crappy one.

Luckily, Camp Half-Blood had spare shrouds in the attic for occasions such as this, and therefore Lou's and Percy's burial shrouds were standard orange things that caught fire easily enough.

That concluded the night's festivities, and everyone went to bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Against all of her common sense, not even an hour before she turned in for the night, Lou Ellen decided to splurge herself on account of making it back from a quest alive, and broke open a bottle of wine that no almost-thirteen-year-old girl should have.

But, being the daughter of the magic goddess had its perks, and Lou Ellen Williams is not an alcoholic, as she would insist. She drank the entire bottle and ate an entire gallon tub of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. Sharing some sips and bites with Kira, of course.

In the middle of the night, Lou was sleeping peacefully, enjoying a night's rest in her own bed, when she was rudely awakened, by her own dog no less. However, before the witch could tear into her puppy for licking her nose, the sharp, sudden tug in her bladder had Lou Ellen literally teleporting into her bathroom, directly onto the toilet.

Her teleportation spell had been so sudden and rushed, that she had botched it in the fortunate way that she teleported only herself, and none of her garments.

After she was done, the witch girl walked back to her bedroom in a slight daze, and she stared at Kira. The little Husky was sitting on her haunches on the bed, wagging her little tail, her little tongue dangling out the side of her mouth, her big blue eyes sparkling.

"You…you woke me up right before I had an accident…" Lou said distantly. She was trying to make sense of what had just happened, her dog waking her up in the middle of the night, serving as an impromptu bedwetting alarm…

…huh.

"Arf!" Kira barked.

A stab of thought pierced Lou's head. Her earlier kind-of prayer, asking God to give her nighttime bladder control, her dog waking her up right before she peed herself…call the witch girl crazy, but maybe—just _maybe_ —this was her prayer being answered.

Lou slowly donned her t-shirt, lost in her thoughts. She reached for her diaper, but then stopped. Biologically speaking, there was no need for it for the rest of the night, as she had just finished emptying herself, but that wasn't what caused Lou to stop. No, what stayed the demigoddess' hand was a leap of faith.

A leap of faith that God, through Kira, would take care of her for the rest of the night.

So, Lou donned a pair of panties and pulled up her pajama shorts, and got back in bed. Kira immediately padded over and plopped down next to her head, and Lou patted her puppy's head.

"You adorable little floof ball," she muttered. Then she leaned over and kissed Kira's nose, eliciting a short little puppy noise. "Thanks."

Kira licked Lou Ellen's nose, before snuggling in and going to sleep.

Before she reentered the land of dreams, the witch girl looked up at her ceiling with a small smile and misty eyes.

' _Thank you.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Central Park_

"We've been duped by a kid," the big man in the white hoodie grunted.

"So it would seem," William Miles mused aloud.

"What, you think he's _not_ intentionally screwing us over? We've been here for three days already, rotating shifts. We're exposed, and that kid's just dangling us on a string. He's probably some kind of Templar super soldier."

A female Assassin by the name of Rebecca scoffed. "If he was a Templar super soldier, we'd all be dead by now because he would've ratted us out already."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because, _Clay_ ," Rebecca snapped, "women's intuition."

The Assassin snorted.

"Hey, how many times did my intuition save your ass?"

"How many times did it almost cost me my life?" Clay retorted.

"Children," William broke in sharply. "Shut up."

Off to the side, Desmond remained quiet. Something felt wrong to him, something was off. After another ten minutes of silently waiting, all eyes darting about for any sign of danger, he spoke up. "We need to check his apartment."

All three Assassins turned to him.

Desmond raised a brow. "Don't act like you guys haven't already run every background check possible on Percy, and know what preschool he went to."

"Well, yeah, we have, but…" Rebecca trailed off.

"Then let's go to his apartment. I've got a bad feeling."

"Oh, you've got a bad feeling?" Clay asked, frustration and paranoia getting the better of him. "The deserter has a bad feeling so we've got to listen to what he says? Yeah, kiss my ass."

"Clay…" William warned.

"No," he snapped, "I've kept quiet long enough about the prodigal son and his daddy getting back together and acting like none of us exist anymore. You deserted the Assassins, you left us, you have no say here."

Desmond, who had turned away and stopped to listen, turned back around. The look on his face and the light in his eye made Clay swallow. William saw his son's countenance, and didn't know whether to be proud or scared. Rebecca's eyes flitted between the two Assassins, fingering a knockout dart shooter.

Desmond walked until he was almost touching noses with Clay, and stared the man down. For his part, Clay held Desmond's gaze, despite the beads of sweat rolling down his face.

"I may have deserted, but now I'm back, and my head's in the game. Yours isn't. You're panicking, freaking out. Your jumpy and excited, chasing shadows. You're unstable, Clay. If anyone doesn't have any say here, it's you. Now you can either come with us to the kid's apartment, or you can take your happy ass back to the safe house."

Desmond didn't wait for a response. He turned around and headed for the Upper East Side. His father followed without a glance backward. Rebecca looked at Clay once, and then followed as well. The last Assassin that wasn't following Desmond huffed, and followed after his current teammates.

"Since when did you become so authoritative?" William asked lowly.

Desmond didn't break stride. "I don't know, but I've been having some weird dreams lately, and I guess it's changing me."

"Dreams? What kind of dreams?"

"Dreams about the Middle Ages, Masyaf, brothers named Altaїr and Faris, the Renaissance, Ezio Auditore, Che Si Aggira…it's all really vague stuff, stuff I barely understand, but…I'm learning from it, getting my groove back, so to speak."

"Huh…I see." William just nodded and accepted what he was given, deciding to act on this information at a later time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Holy shit," Rebecca gasped upon seeing the inside of the Jackson apartment.

Everything was a mess. Couches and chairs turned over and shredded. Furniture broken and scattered. The TV broken in half. Bullet holes in the walls. Floor boards broken up. Four bodies, mangled, decaying, and stinking. And no sign of Percy Jackson, nor his mother.

"Do you think the Templars got him?" Rebecca asked.

Desmond shook his head. "Even they can appreciate subtlety. This is anything but. This is messy and loud and clumsy. These bodies wouldn't have been left to rot, and this place wouldn't be so trashed. Whoever has Percy, it's not the Templars.

"On the other hand," Desmond said as he stood, "Percy might not have even been by here yet, and this could all just be a break-in gone very wrong. His mother might be staying at a hotel somewhere, and hasn't been here in days. This could all just be a misunderstanding."

"Well, misunderstanding or not, we've got to get out of here," Clay said. "We waited for the kid, he didn't show. He came to his place, he's not here, and one of his legal guardians is dead. Looks like he's been that way for a few days now. The door was locked, and we're here. If someone decides to get nosey, we'll be compromised, and then we'll have to deal with the police. We need to get out of here and regroup."

"Agreed," William said. "Rebecca, Desmond, let's go."

While the former joined the other two men instantly, the latter lingered. Something had caught his eye, a shell casing, but more importantly, the gun right next to it. Desmond picked up the pistol, a standard run of the mill Glock, and showed it.

There were words stamped into the slide.

"Do any of you know anything about Triumvirate Holdings?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A day turned into three days, and then into a week, and then into a month. There wasn't hide nor hair of Percy Jackson or Sally, and the news eventually caught wind of it. The smell of the bodies had finally become enough for the neighbors to call someone, and that someone called the authorities. It garnered national attention, as Percy Jackson, suspect of terrorist bombings soon found innocent in wake of a beach brawl, suddenly went missing.

However, after another week of nothing substantial, the news coverage instantly died down as it failed to produce any decent profit.

But the word was out. The Assassins were conducting their own searches, almost desperate to find the mysterious boy. The Templars were hunting him down, frustrated at their failure, much to Nero's amusement. The demigods, the ones that were important anyway, were almost in a panic, especially Lou Ellen and Annabeth, and the gods, mostly Poseidon, were deeply concerned.

The Deliverer of the Master Bolt leaves Olympus and then vanishes? Highly suspicious, even more so considering the rise in certain happenings. Foul play was suspected, and godly investigations took place, though no ground was gained, much to Poseidon's dismay.

For three months did Percy remain missing. For three months were there searches and investigations. For three months was there crying and despairing…until Philadelphia. Until the city was destroyed in a blast of extreme power. Until all the Olympians arrived at the smoldering hellscape of a city.

They overturned rocks and rubble, until Poseidon lifted away one slab of concrete, and screamed.

Percy had been found at last, and he did not look well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Olympus_

The first thing to have been done was dump Percy into a vat of saltwater. That took care of the burns and the cuts, but not his emaciation and atrophy. After his bath, Apollo and Asclepius, under the furious order of Poseidon, gently put the comatose demigod in the most comfortable bed ever made, and gently hooked him to an IV of nectar and saltwater.

As there was nothing physically wrong with him, not anything that could be treated without physical therapy, anyway, there wasn't anything else that could be done until Percy woke up. Asclepius tried entering Percy's mind, but found that he couldn't. It was locked tight by Percy's own subconscious, his mind locking itself down to protect it from something. What that something was, was anyone's guess.

Poseidon had also been informed by an emissary that Sally was enjoying her afterlife in Elysium.

For three days, the seas swelled due to their master's grief. For three days did Poseidon mourn for his mortal lover, and lament his failure to protect his son. For three days, Amphitrite and Triton did what they could for their husband and father, finding not the heart in them to be mad or take pleasure in Poseidon's grief, grief that stemmed from his infidelity. For three days…Percy Jackson remained comatose and inactive on all levels, unresponsive to all.

On this third day, the Fates deemed it time to begin turning the wheels once more, and they brought in help.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Poseidon entered his son's room, and his trident was instantly brandished at the intruder in the black cloak with the red clouds, standing over Percy.

" _WHO ARE YOU!?"_

The stranger calmly lifted the brim of his straw hat, and Poseidon saw a red eye with three comma-like markings around the pupil. Instantly, the sea god felt so calm and relaxed. He lowered his trident and mumbled a barely audible "sorry" before trudging over to stand next to the crimson-eyed stranger. That was when Poseidon vaguely noticed that Asclepius was there. Overlapped across the healing god's eye was a hazy image like the stranger's eye.

Poseidon paid it no need as he stood there silently. He became so lost in a warm, fuzzy daze, that he didn't even hear the stranger speak.

"I've met a science experiment, a psychopath, a monster, and a kid with tentacles coming out just above his ass. A devout Christian version of me is something I never thought I'd meet, nor did I ever think I'd have to fix their head. Oh well. The faster we get this over with, the faster we can get to my sister's birthday. Now, let's see what the damage is…"

The stranger reached down and pried open one of Percy's eyelids. The red eye of the stranger glowed briefly, before returning to its usual luminance. "My, that is extensive, but nothing I haven't seen before. Honestly, this is rather tame, but I'll be generous enough to rate it at PG-13."

Asclepius raised his head asked, "What on earth does it take to be rated as R if this doesn't qualify?"

"He wasn't dissected and sewn into a meat suit styled to look like some kind of animal and then bred like said animal," the stranger stated casually, like discussing how work went yesterday.

Asclepius nodded dazedly.

Shin'en's eye spun into its Mangekyou form. It glowed brightly.

"Now then…let's get to work…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **And so it begins, the revitalization of**_ **Assassin's Creed: Transcendence** _ **with help from Shin'en. Let it be known that I always intended to bring in Shin'en to help pull Percy back together, especially after**_ **Xenophobic** _ **, so this is not some spur of the moment decision.**_

 _ **Anyway, we're back on track with the story at the end of next chapter, and the rewards for completing the Trial of Job are given. I think it's high time we bring back the**_ **Assassin's Creed** _ **elements of this story, and reground its roots.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	30. Rise, Assassin

_Rise, Assassin_

 _ **Yes, I am back, not that I left in the first place.**_

 _ **Anyway, the plan for the coming weeks is to steamroll this story to the end of the Fourth Life arc, and then go from there. I might pick back up on some other story, like**_ **Sea Devil** _ **, bring it to at least the end of the Lightning Thief, or do something different with it, or start the**_ **Blood War** _ **.**_

 _ **Like I said: not sure yet.**_

 _ **Of course, coupled with work, time spent with friends, preparations for college—I've officially graduated high school, by the way—and the fact that I'm splitting my writing time between my novel and my fanfiction…updates are going to be wonky.**_

 _ **Also: /F3g8qTx**_

 _ **That is the link to a Discord server teeming with just about everything imaginable. Renowned fanfic author nutsofthechest is part of this server, as are many others looking for betas, and offering writing advice. Go join so KryptertJ will stop bugging me.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I do not own PJO or Assassin's Creed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Impressive," Shin'en intoned as the spiritual manifestation of himself stood in front of Percy's mental barrier to his mind. Said barrier took the form of the massive walls of San Gimignano back during the late 1400s. At the top of the walls was a glimmering white shield, so one couldn't simply "hop" over the wall.

"If any other twelve-year-old had a defense like this, I might've been slightly concerned. As it is, however…"

Shin'en from placing a hand upon the smooth surface, causing an opening to appear. He stepped through, the wall closing behind him, and he beheld the sight before him.

"Most impressive…but there is still much to be done."

The anti-shinobi saw memories, or at least, friezes of memories. A massive cathedral with its expansive walls covered in frozen images of the most important and memorable events that Percy had stored in his head. However, the friezes were cracked and peeling. The floors of the cathedral were dirty, the gold that adorned the pillars and candelabras tarnished, the pews covered in dust, the windows boarded up, the sun outside hidden behind dreary clouds, casting a gloom about the cathedral.

At the front, the big cross was bent, the Bible upon the pulpit opened to the Book of John, Chapter Eleven, Verse Thirty-Five, but the pages were old, crumbling at the edges, and stained with something that perhaps had been red at one time, but was now dull in the dreariness of the cathedral.

At the foremost pew sat a lone figure, still and unmoving.

Shin'en went to this figure, and sat down next to him. It was Percy, of course, younger, dressed in a black hoodie and black sweatpants. His knees were pulled to his chest, and his chin resting in the groove. If Sally were to have seen him like this, she would've immediately pulled him into a hug and asked him what was wrong.

Shin'en did no such thing.

"Hello, Percy."

"Per…Per…cy…?" the boy said slowly, confused and dazed. He shook his head slightly. "No…Percy…name is…Priscilla…"

He pointed forward at something, and Shin'en followed that finger. There was a full-body mirror no more than ten feet away. In that mirror, from the angle at which he was sitting, Shin'en saw the reflection of a small girl in a lovely dress, or at least, someone with the appearance of a small girl in a dress.

Shin'en looked back at Percy, and saw Priscilla in the place of where he was just sitting. She lowered her finger, and Shin'en caught out the corner of his eye the absence of the mirror. He frowned.

"Am I girl?"

His eyes drifted back to his companion for the moment. Priscilla worked herself to where she was holding her dress up to her chin, exposing her body. Her ribs poked from her skin and her stomach was sunk in slightly. Across her chest was a bra filled by mammaries, and covering her groin was a pair of pastel pink underwear, a quaint little bow along the waist at the front. The underwear was bulging, and not from clitoromegaly.

"I'm told I'm a girl, and I'm going to be married to my husband soon, though we've already had sex." Priscilla let her dress down, stating all this like it was everyday fact. "But it hurts and I don't like it. He doesn't put it where a girl should get it, and I don't have where a girl should get it."

Shin'en's face never changed once during Priscilla's entire dialogue, and when she was done speaking he said seriously, "You are not a girl. You are not even real. You are a collection of memories brought together in a mental manifestation by a damaged psyche. Tell me where Percy is, and begone. I have work to attend to."

Priscilla pointed to the other side of Shin'en. "He's right there."

The anti-shinobi turned and looked, and found himself looking at another mirror, this time of his reflection, and his reflection was that of a twelve-year-old boy in jeans and a modified hoodie. Shin'en exhaled a jet of air from his nose.

"These mind games grow tiresome." His eyes glowed like exploding red giants, and the mirror erupted into scarlet dust. "Amon! Enough playing."

Inhuman laughter echoed through the empty cathedral, and the sound of huge whooshing wings was loud as something big descended from above. Shin'en watched impassively as the Demon Hero lit upon the broken cross, making the metal grown in protest. Amon grinned savagely, his pointed teeth gleaming as his leathery wings folded into his back. His tail slithered around behind him, and his arms hung loosely at his sides.

Amon's pure yellow eyes, eyes lacking pupil and sclera and iris, stared maliciously at Shin'en. **"So, it's the Dragon Ghost of the Abyss, in the head of my host."**

"Show me where Percy's mental form is so I can get him back on his feet. I've got other things to do."

" **So demanding. Why should I obey you? You who is more damaged than little Percy here, more in need of a hug? For that matter, why should I bother with the boy when I have you here before me?"** Amon licked his lips with his long, red tongue. **"Your soul is blacker than my own, stained with brief instances of joy but forever marred by unspeakable acts of sin. You'd make for a much better companion."**

"I once had an annoying partner that floated around beside me. He didn't last very long."

" **Do not presume me to be as pathetically weak as Ryuk, demigod."**

"Do not presume that I want you around me any longer than necessary."

" **Awe, not even the promise of ultimate power can sway you? The power to protect your big sister and her lover at all times? The power to accomplish your life's ambition, and bring peace to your world through the eradication of the ninja? The power to be with Naruko against all adversity?"**

If Shin'en cared about any of what was said, he didn't show it, though he did say this, "And where do you get the idea that I want to be with Naruko?"

" **Oh, come now. There's no need to play coy and act like you are in denial. She's quite the woman. The polar opposite of you, happy, smiley, an adorable ray of naïve sunshine in a filthy world of darkness. You were attracted to her the moment you met her…and she you. She was everything you wanted, and you are everything she needed. And after your little playground fight before the both of you even had your first wet dream, you two knew each other on a level beyond words.**

" **The connecting of chakra. The sharing of memories. The reliving of experiences. All of it bonded between you two. And then she was out in the world, exposing herself to its horrors. She saw humans treated like less than animals, pressed into servitude to clean the house, work the fields, and satisfy their masters. She found people chained up in basements, tortured for no other reason than because their captors wanted to. She bore witness to parents selling away their children for coin, and children murdering their parents for the same reason. She saw incest, corruption, and she's killed** _ **many**_ **people."**

Amon smiled gruesomely. **"Congratulations, Shin'en. You successfully brought one of the happiest, most innocent souls down to** _ **our**_ **level. That's something even Satan would have trouble accomplishing."**

Shin'en did not break eye contact with the demon. "As much merit as there is in your words, we're not here to talk about me. This is the last time I'll ask: where is Percy?"

" **Oh, fine then. I suppose a host I can talk to is better than one that needs asleep all the time. He's through that door there."**

"If you are lying to me, you will not like the outcome."

" **An adorable threat coming from the little pagan boy."**

Amon's wings snapped out, and with a single flap, he disappeared into the rotunda.

Shin'en blew a sharp blast of air from his nose, then spun on his heel, heading for the door indicated by the demon. He didn't knock or gently open the door, but neither did he break it off its hinges. Inside was not what he expected. Shin'en fully expected something like another wing of this abandoned cathedral, but he instead found a bedroom, one very much like the one his sister used to reside in before she killed Gabe and the life insurance enabled her and Sally to move into the penthouse.

On the bed was Percy, fully clothed and sleeping soundly. He didn't have a peaceful look on his face. Instead, he looked fierce. His mouth was set in a displeased frown. His eyes were closed yet creased. And his posture was rigid, even in sleep. If he had been awake right now, he would've been listening to a Novice give him a displeasing report.

Shin'en's lips quirked slightly at the thought, and he felt better with his line of thinking being that it wouldn't be difficult to get Percy back on his feet in spite of his trials. He walked forward until he was next to the boy.

"Get up, Percy."

No response.

"Get up. Now."

He remained silent and sleeping.

Shin'en tilted his head to the side, his long hair swaying with the motion. _'He retreated into himself to escape the torment, but he went so far down that I can't get him back up. Not with words anyway.'_

The shinobi's hand crackled with lightning, bathing the bedroom in emerald light. "You've had three days to sort yourself out, Percy. Three days to mope and mourn. While your circumstances were grim, you'll find no sympathy from me. Time to wake up."

Shin'en thrust his hand forward, ripping right into Percy's chest. The boy's eyes popped wide open, and he started screaming. The shinobi remained undeterred, and increased the chakra. The lightning screeched louder, the color brighter, the thrashing greater.

With a final surge of chakra, everything erupted in light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back in Percy's room, Asclepius and Poseidon were still under the Mist-laden genjutsu.

Shin'en's Mangekyou lost their luminance, and Percy gasped awake, eyes wide and pupils dilated to the size of needle heads. He panted as he tried to catch his breath, and when he did, his eyes rolled towards Shin'en, and he became lucid. His eyes darkened and his body settled. A shadow crossed his face, and he spoke, "It wasn't dream, any of it."

"All real," Shin'en confirmed.

Percy looked up at the ceiling. "Leave me alone. I need some time to think." He heard a verbal hum, the shuffling of footsteps, and then an iron grip descended on his mouth. His eyes widened and he didn't have time to react before he was hauled out of the bed and thrown into the wall, the IV being ripped out of his arm.

"Leave us," Shin'en intoned. Poseidon and Asclepius rose in tandem, and left the room.

Percy growled. Shin'en stared unblinkingly at him, Sharingan put away for now.

"The time for thinking is over. The time for processing had ended. You've had three days to get yourself sorted, and when you couldn't do that yourself, _I_ was brought in to help you. Congratulations, I'm helping you get over yourself."

Percy's eyes flashed pure yellow, his face temporarily contorting into a demonic visage. "Get over myself? I WAS RAPED!"

"Boo-hoo."

"BRAINWASHED!"

"No one cares."

"HYPNOTIZED TO CALL NERO 'DADDY'!"

"And?"

"FEMINIZED!"

"You and a bunch of others."

This time, Percy's eyes did turn pure yellow, his incisors falling from his mouth as four much bigger ones slid into place with spurts of blood. "AND MY MOTHER WAS KILLED IN FRONT OF ME! **HER BODY DESICRATED BY BEING TORN IN TWO AND THROWN AT ME!"**

The Abyss stared at him flatly. "Cry me a river."

Percy gaped at him, before he attacked in fury. He sprinted forward, cracking the tiles beneath him. He performed a front flip, wheeling his leg around in a 360-axe kick. Shin'en just turned ninety degrees, the offending leg hurtling past him. The impact collapsed the bed. Shin'en brought his hand down on Percy's chest, gripping the medical gown. With a yank, he threw the boy into the ceiling, braking it. Percy came down in a heap of debris, bespeckled with dust.

Shin'en picked him up and slammed him into the wall. "Listen to me, and listen well, kid: As tragic and painful as your story is, it's but one of billions. No one but a few thousand even know it happened, and there's nothing any of them can do about it besides send their regards. What happened between you and Nero doesn't even matter anymore; it's done, it's happened, it's over, and it's time to pick up and move on. You have work to do."

Percy's eyes still swam with defiance, glistening with the human desire to plead his case for pity. He was vulnerable right now, exposed. He was experiencing the human limitation of handling stress by himself, and it was hindering him from getting his feet back under him and standing without aid.

Shin'en snarled at this show of weakness, reminded all too well of himself.

How he hated it when he himself was vulnerable like this.

He peeled Percy from the wall and planted him into the floor, practically hissing through his teeth. Shin'en had to compose himself before he next spoke, and when he did, his voice was even and level.

"There were two children that I loved very much. They were twins, an older sister and a younger brother, and one day their life took the turn for one of the worst outcomes any child could ever experience. Their mother lost herself to the bottle and the blunt, and their stepfather took full advantage of that fact. He pulled the twins from school and threw out the boy's clothes, leaving only his sisters to wear, least he go naked.

"The stepfather starved the twins, feeding them only so they wouldn't die, and he kept them locked in their room, not even letting them out for trips to the bathroom to relive themselves and bathe. After about a week of this isolation, the stepfather began to sexually abuse the little brother, raping him almost nightly as he wore his sister's clothes. The big sister tried to fight back of course, but she was savagely beaten almost to death on every occasion.

"I rescued them both after _six_ months of their mistreatment, and I spent another six months working them back to a social level. The sister was mistrustful, overprotective, paranoid, and refused to be any more than five feet away from her brother, and the brother was shy, timid, jittery, clingy, and after six months of wearing his sister's clothes, flat refused to wear anything but.

"They had physical problems as well, on top of their psychological ones. The sister pissed more blood than piss for almost a month, as her kidneys were severely damaged. She had trouble eating because her teeth were broken. Her spine was beginning to show signs of scoliosis, and her breathing was often labored because her ribs had been pressed inward enough to brush against her lungs from time to time. The brother had problems walking, and he periodically bled from his ass since his muscles were torn, and because his sphincter had been so stretched out he had problems knowing when he had to shit. It was a messy nightmare to deal with for two months, but we all managed."

Percy listened with morbidly rapt attention, neither struggling nor interrupting. Shin'en continued.

" _You_ however were only raped or beaten whenever you decided to mouth off. Beyond that, your every need was catered to. You were fed when hungry, cleaned when needed, and treated with tender care from the handmaidens. Yes, the brainwashing and hypnosis you were subject to was disturbing, but hardly worth crying over. You fought against it and overcame it. Compared to the twins, I dare say your experience was like a _fucking resort vacation_."

Shin'en hauled Percy to his feet and stood him up. "The next time you want to complain about how bad you have it, or how bad it was, bear in mind that someone, somewhere, has it _much_ worse, had it _much_ worse. Your story is but one of billions, and like I told the twins: the world doesn't care, and your life for the past months will become naught but distant memories and bad dreams, so suck it up and move on now."

Silence engulfed the room, Shin'en staring at Percy, and Percy trying to hold that powerful gaze as he digested the information given to him, tried to make sense of it as his head swam. As he ran through everything, he picked up some things: the seriousness in this lookalike's eyes, the emotion in his voice, the detail of the recollection….

"Those twins you spoke of…how you look like me…those twins were you and I presume your sister, weren't they?"

"Correct."

"And the stepfather was Gabe."

"He was."

"All he ever was to me was a bully. He took my money and moved my stuff and wasn't nice, but he never hit me, he never even touched me, besides grabbing the front of my shirt from time to time, and he never hit my mother, either."

"Some worlds are that lucky, other not so much. Now, are you done pitying yourself, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad? Are you ready to stand on your feet once more, Vergil Cavaliere? Are you prepared to continue the fight against the Templar once again, Assassin?"

Percy stood a little straighter, his shoulder a little wider, his eyes harder. "I am."

Shin'en stepped aside, revealing a nightstand behind him. On top of it were clothes and weapons. "Then arm yourself. You are three months late for a meeting."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Manhattan_

They stood atop an unfinished skyscraper being built along the Hudson. Ironically, or perhaps symbolically, it was the same skyscraper that Percy had climbed a year ago, the one he had taken his first Leap of Faith from. Rather concerning, really, that the structure hadn't been completed in that amount of time.

"What are you of now, Percy Jackson?"

The boy was silent for a time. His leather coat flapped quietly in the wind. His hood had been pulled up, hiding the upper half of his face. His Hidden Blades were secured around his arms, the magic ring that was his crossbow adorned his finger, and the Minotaur horns were strapped to his back, Lou Ellen's magic still working to keep the coat from looking awkward.

"An old Creed," he answered at last. "My mother is God's arms now, at peace. I have no mortal family to worry for, no mortal friends to hold me back. The future is mine now, and if those people were Assassins, and the Templars still live, then I have a duty to perform, and a Brotherhood to seek out."

"Do you know where you'll start looking?"

"No, but I have faith the answer will come in due time."

"You… _fascinate_ me," Shin'en said after a pause. "You are not the first I've met from across realities, but you are certainly the most unique. I've met a generic godlike monster, a female transformation turned into a goddess, a psychopath with an abusive childhood that's left him psychologically damaged, and a kid with an extra organ. Amongst all of them, you stand out. A devout Christian with unshakeable faith, even in the face of literal gods and crimes against humanity….I once had two friends that I loved very much. They liked to debate God's place in the world, how He fit into all the pain and suffering. Maybe one day, I'll be able to introduce you to them."

"I would very much like for that to happen."

A pillar of light descended from the dark sky, and the shinobi stepped towards it. Before he entered, he was stopped by the voice of Percy.

"What are we to each other? I… _feel_ something in regards to you. A kind of bond that I can't make sense of."

"I believe that's a sin according to your religion."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

A ghost of a smirk crossed Shin'en's face before it was exorcised. He turned his head just enough to where a little bit of his face could be seen, his Sharingan glowing against the light of the pillar.

"We are kindred spirits."

He stepped into the light and vanished, the pillar blinking out.

"Kindred spirits…" Percy repeated. "I look forward to the day we meet again, Shin'en."

Now alone, the Assassin focused in. He stepped to the edge of the skyscraper, and overlooked the city. As much as there was to be done in a place like this, with its gangs, and drugs, and murderers, and corruption, there was a larger enemy at work. He could feel it, the shadow of the Dark Cross looming over the world.

He had a Brotherhood to find, but first he had friends to see, friends that needed to know he was alive and well.

Percy locked his body and spread his arms, but before he leapt, a ghostly figure in a white cloak appeared next to him.

" _It is a good life we lead, brother."_

The Assassin's eyes misted slightly at hearing that voice, that voice that he last heard a lifetime ago. "T-The best…"

" _May it never change."_

"And may it never change us."

That cloaked man leapt from the edge and vanished.

"We'll see each other again, _fratello mio_ , but not yet. There is work to be done here on Earth."

A distant eagle cried loudly as the Assassin descended out of view into the water below.

On the other side of the skyscraper, the building's owners had already put up their logo. A yellow, blue, and red line all almost connecting, making a vague "A" shape. Beneath the sigil was the name:

Abstergo Industries.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **That might have felt rushed and unrealistic, but for the life of me, I couldn't see**_ _ **this**_ _ **Percy waking up from any kind of traumatic experience and being mopey and self-pitying and pathetic, especially not after living two lives that were chock-full of traumatic experiences.**_

 _ **All I could see was Percy needing a little pick-me-up to get him back on his feet, because we all need a little help sometimes, and then he'd take it from there.**_

 _ **Like it or not, Percy's back in action. Next chapter is his reuniting with Camp Half-Blood, and him finding the Assassins…subsequently discovering how horrendous his Brotherhood became since the Sack of Rome.**_

 _ **I've also got to say that my favorite part of this chapter was Shin'en's talk with Amon. I found it enlightening.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	31. The Modern Brotherhood

_The Modern Brotherhood_

 _ **Amon could actually fight Shin'en to a borderline standstill.**_

 _ **But someone will want to debate that with me anyway, so I don't really see the point in saying that other than to put it on the table.**_

 _ **Anyway, next chapter!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or Assassin's Creed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dionysus knew that Percy had been found and brought to Olympus. He knew that whatever had happened in those missing three months had been so devastating in some way that the boy's mind had completely sealed itself off to defend from the trauma. He also knew that just hours ago, Percy had simply up and vanished from his sickbed, which was why he was monstrously curious when this blasted Camp's border system alerted him that something had just crossed the boundary line, and that disturbance just so happened to be Percy Jackson.

Instead of immediately teleporting to the demigod's location, or teleporting the demigod to his location, Dionysus sipped on his coke, content to monitor the situation. Percy was heading for Lou Ellen's cabin, most likely to greet her and assuage her of her worries. The past three months had been hard on Hecate's daughter, emotionally and physically.

It almost touched Dionysus' heart to see a girl so worried about a boy.

There was also a concerning factor here: to the Wine God's knowledge, Percy was not informed of where Lou's forest home was, but he was at her front door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After the ten-day mark of Percy's absence, Lou Ellen Williams had what could arguably be called a frantic breakdown. She had locked herself in her personal cabin had hadn't been seen in over two months. Rumors persisted that she had actually kidnapped Percy and was either sexing him up or cutting him up, and where no one truly knew Lou enough to refute such rumors, besides Beckendorf, Annabeth, and Grover, most everyone agreed that was a little outlandish, and there was no way Dionysus would allow that.

The truth was that Lou Ellen was running herself ragged, almost literally killing herself on a daily basis as she exercised more magic than what was usually possible for any child of Hecate. Not even her eldest siblings, like Circe, Lamia, Celyn in the Hunters, several Amazons, and the few that walked freely about the earth, could pull off this much magic in a day without serious preparation. The only child of Hecate that could've outstripped Lou was Lucy.

The witch girl used every location spell she could think of, every communication spell she could think of. She performed spells and rituals to boost her powers, and retried those spells. She summoned spirits of questionable morality, and spirits of strong virtue, and sent them to look for Percy. She called upon monsters and demons that roamed the earth, binding them to her service, and made them look. She reached out to her many siblings, either enlisting their aid, or forcing them into servitude.

Except for Lucy.

Lucy just snorted and shooed Lou Ellen's magic away like she was no more than a fly.

Circe tried to resist, citing that she had more important things to do than help a little bedwetter find the object of her puppy love, and she was promptly slammed into a wall by Lou astral projection, and then manhandled like a disobedient slave.

After a month of drinking potions and performing rituals to boost her strength so she could keep up the look for Percy, and nothing was found, she regrouped and tried something else. She released all the demons and spirits and monsters from her service, with the promise that she wouldn't call for any of them again in the next three years and five months and six days.

Oddly specific but whatever.

She contacted all of her siblings and told them to stop their own searches, not that she believed many of them were giving it their best effort in the first place. With the otherworldly help gone and her siblings no longer helping, Lou made a radical decision: she practiced the magic of other pantheons.

Now, one would think that a daughter of the _Greek_ magic goddess would be unable to perform magic outside the Greek sphere, and you would be incorrect. Magic is not bound by religion or pantheon. Magic is magic, and it can be used in an unlimited number of ways according to its user, and Lou was a child of magic.

Hecate was just the Greek's magic deity, just as Isis was the Egyptian's, and Odin's the Norse's.

Now, there were laws to be observed, and limitations to be aware of. Only children of Hecate and exceptionally powerful demigods could use other pantheonic magics, and the tole for doing this was _extreme_. Which was why Lou spent a whole week preparing to use Egyptian spells to comb through the Duat, and a whole other week after preparing to comb through the Nine Realms.

To Lou's infinite fury, she could not find hide nor hair of the boy she felt so deeply attracted to.

When getting help didn't work, and when practicing other magic didn't work, Lou turned to her most desperate cards: invoking the presence of gods.

That was a tricky practice, because where gods were bound by the Ancient Laws to obey the summons of a powerful enough invocation spell, they did not have to do as commanded by the summoner, nor did they have to leave the summoner alive after they were called, which was why, when summoning gods, one had to make triply sure there were proper barriers and wards and protections and countermeasures in place, and that the god they were summoning was more or less friendly, or they were on friendly enough terms with, and the spell being used to summon the god in question was not a contract spell, or binding spell, or any kind of spell that went beyond simply summoning the god to your location.

Unless you wanted something from that god. Then you changed the spell to fit your needs.

Anyway, Lou summoned Hermes, Apollo, Demeter, Athena, Hypnos, Triton, Artemis, Hephaestus, and Morpheus, beseeching them all to help her. Some straight agreed, others said "sure" and probably didn't do a damn thing, and the rest flat refused.

Lou had wanted to summon her mother so badly that it had hurt, but part of being the magic goddess was that you could not be summoned by your children's spells, as the Ancient Laws forbade direct contact with your children, though gods could get away with direct contact in some ways, but directly being summoned was something that could not be overlooked, and so it did not happen.

Anyway, Lou was at her wit's end. None of her spells worked, nothing she tried worked, none of her helpers were helpful. The only thing she hadn't done yet was try some of the really big spells, the forbidden ones at the backs of her spell books. The kind of spells that people tried to prevent you from casting. She was going to do it, too. She was already gathering the ingredients for the proper potions, calculating the times of day, the dates, the phases of the moon, etc., when Kira suddenly perked up, when her wards alerted her of an approaching entity.

Lou Ellen was really proud of her wards. They let her know what was coming, how far it was, how big it was, if it was male or female, if it was monster, god, demigod, or something else, _who_ was coming if she was familiar enough with the approachee, and her favorite part: if she didn't like what was coming, and what was coming wasn't so powerful, she could trigger her wards to zap the offender like a bug.

But in the case of who was coming, Lou did not zap the person. She ran out of her door, barefoot against the cool, moist ground, and bowled him over. Three months of emotions boiled over, and Lou Ellen sobbed into his chest.

"Wh-where w-were you…? I c-c-couldn't find…n-n-nothing was w-w-working…t-tried e-everything!"

"Shhhhh," Percy soothed. He ran a hand through Lou's hair, gently caressing her head. "It's alright now. I'm alright. You're alright."

"Arf! Arf!"

"And Kira's alright, too. Everything's alright. Now, please get off of me?"

Lou shakily got to her feet, and when Percy got to his own, she threw her arms around him and kissed him with everything she had. A bold move to be sure, one that had Percy stunned through his shoes, but he recovered fast, and kissed her back. There was hardly anything vulgar about the kiss, no tongue, no roaming hands, no biting or lip sucking, just two people being connected in one of the most intimate of ways.

Lou pulled back, cheeks ablaze. "S-So…um…are you my boyfriend now?"

"Yes, I believe I am."

The witch pumped a fist. "Yeah! Take that, Annabeth!"

Percy stared at her flatly, making her fidget. "R-Right, sorry…" Lou sobered up. "What happened to you? Three months…not a word…and then the news…your apartment…went missing…what happened?"

"The Trial of Job," Percy said grimly. He spent the next few minutes recounting his Trial.

After he was done, Lou was pale as a sheet of paper. She didn't know what to do. Saying "I'm sorry" wasn't going to do anything, and giving him another hug felt empty, but she wanted to do something to show that she cared, and that she felt for him. A look into his eyes, however, dissuaded her.

He had overcome this trial.

Beaten it.

Risen above it.

Endured it.

It was a defining trait now. One that made him different than how he used to be. It made him something more, something else.

"What…what are you going to do now?" Lou asked.

"I'm going to inform Chiron of what happened, then I'm going to say hi to Beckendorf, Annabeth, and Grover. Then I'm going to leave."

Lou was shocked. "Leave!? You just got back!"

"It is also late September."

"Oh, do not tell me you're about to go attend junior high!"

Percy almost punched Lou in the face for making such an insinuation, and the look on his own face made the witch squirm.

"Sorry, that was dumb."

"Agreed. What I was referring to was the fact that, back in June, I told some people that I would meet them at Central Park. That never happened, and now I need to find them."

"Oh, right, the Assassins."

"Potential Assassins, yes."

Lou's eyes crinkled as she tried to hold it in. "But…all of what happened…and you just got back…and-and we k-kissed…and you're just going to leave again…? I don't…I don't understand."

"I know you don't, Lou," Percy said quietly. "You are not me; you were not born into an order sworn to do their best to maintain what little peace there is in the world; you were not inducted into an order sworn to fight to their last breath against the Templar, and stop whatever schemes they are planning, and the schemes of other men who consider themselves masters of others. You are not charged with the _duty_ that I am charged with, and therefore you do not understand."

"…then I'm going with you," Lou decided.

Percy almost lost his balance. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going with you. I spent the past three months working my butt off trying every spell I knew so I could find you, and then when you just show up at my door, and we kiss, we decide to call ourselves boyfriend/girlfriend, only for you to tell me you're leaving…uh-uh. Not happening." Lou put her hands on her hips. "I'm your girlfriend now, and you are _not_ getting rid of me that easily."

"The last girlfriend I had was murdered."

Lou's confidence diminished when she remembered Emiliana Santi, Virgil Cavaliere's girlfriend from the Renaissance. "Uh, well…I'll do my best not to get killed, then."

Percy gave her a flat look. "Reassuring, thank you."

"You're still not getting rid of me."

"Arf!"

"Or Kira."

Percy looked down at the puppy. "I'm no dog expert, but shouldn't she be bigger after three months?"

"She's a magic puppy," Lou said like it explained everything.

"Oh, of course. My mistake." Percy then sighed. "Well, pack your things, then."

Lou grinned and spoke in that way of hers. " _Ckap lla fo ym sgniht dna gnirb meht ot em._ "

Percy just stood there as the there was a bright light from within Lou's house, and there was a sound like clattering, and then a suitcase came zooming out of the house, right into Lou's hand.

"Ready!" She chirped. She wasn't in her pajamas, as it was approaching noon for the day, and was in her street clothes.

Percy remembered that odd quirk Lou had, and if she was ready and in her street clothes…

"Diaper?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't where those anymore."

Percy blinked. "Awesome," he said flatly, not entirely sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Lou didn't wear her diapers anymore.

"Yeah, when I got home after the quest, I had, like, an internal debate with myself, talking about how I had all these amazing powers with the only drawback being that I was bedwetter, and how it was kind of petty of me to be like that, and I eventually concluded that it was God's way of teaching me humility, you know? Anyway, after I came to that conclusion, I still prayed that I wouldn't wet my bed, and, well, that night, I decided to break routine and drink a lot of juice before I went to bed, in celebration of coming back alive, and, in the middle of the night, Kira woke me up just before I wet, and she's done so every night since then…and I don't wear diapers in the day anymore. I learned some new spells."

Percy blinked. Then his eyes darted from Lou to Kira and back to Lou, then back to Kira and back to Lou. Then he blinked again. "Awesome," he said.

Honestly, what else do you say after an explanation like that?

"I know, right?" Lou grinned.

"Indeed. Let's go see Chiron."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They didn't draw any heads, but that was because Lou teleported them right to the Big House interior, right as Chiron was about to take a bite out of an entire roast turkey. The centaur reacted to the sudden intrusion with a grand display of throwing the turkey through the ceiling, knocking over the table, and he finished by brandishing a ladle and a plastic knife.

"You handled that with all the ability of a teacher that's several thousand years old," Percy said dryly.

"Well, excuse me, but being teleported upon while in the middle of a meal is something that has only ever happened once in my lifetime, young man, and-"

There was the distinct sound of a record scratch somewhere in the background, and Chiron's eyes widened. He surged forward, as he was in his centaur form, and he scooped Percy into a mighty hug. Lou watched that happen with a strange expression on her face.

' _In all my years alive on this earth, not once did I ever want to see Chiron's junk…oh my gods it's_ _flopping around_ _!'_

Lou quickly cast a spell that made Chiron put Percy down before his spine was accidentally crushed, and she cast another to make Chiron's dong invisible to her.

"M-My boy," the centaur said, all choked up. "Wh-Where…h-how…?"

"Yes, I would like to know that as well," Dionysus said, entering without warning or indication. The turkey in the ceiling decided to suddenly obey gravity, and came down directly on the Wine God's head. "Ow," he frowned.

"This is the abridged version," Percy said, and he gave them the abridged version. After he was done, Chiron and Dionysus were both staring at him blankly. Then the centaur fainted and fell on his side. Dionysus looked at him. "Come now, old boy. That's hardly the worst thing you've ever heard."

He nudged the centaur with his foot, and rolled his eyes when there was no response. Deigning to let Chiron enjoy his impromptu nap, he turned his purple eyes towards Percy. "Well, I understand your mother is dead, as is your stepfather, and you don't strike me as the type of teenager to willingly go back to school, so it begs the question of just what are you going to do now? Stay at Camp? Try to move in with your father in Atlantis? Or something else?"

"Something else," Percy confirmed, but did not elaborate.

"Very well then, I will not stop you." Dionysus turned, nudged Chiron one more time with his foot, shrugged, and almost made it out the door before Percy said, "Dionysus."

"Hm?"

"If it isn't too much trouble, could you please tell me where Annabeth, Beckendorf, and Grover are?"

"Well, since you said please…Annabeth is attending a public school in California. She decided to give her father another shot at being a father, and sent him a letter. She got a letter back, and she left a week later. Beckendorf is currently attending high school in Texas, and Grover is out in the wild, looking for Pan. They're all still worried about you, but you know how it is…life moves on, and all that. Sorry if that crushes you."

The Wine God left, and Percy just stood there. Yes, it made sense that they all would've moved on after three months, but…ouch.

"I'm the only one that kept looking besides the gods," Lou said.

"Thank you," Percy said. "Well, since everyone I wanted to meet is gone now, there's no point in hanging around here."

"Do you know where to start looking?"

"I have a good idea." He tilted his head up in the classic indication of look over there. Lou obeyed, and saw a travel magazine for Rapid City, South Dakota sitting on a table.

"That is…" she started. "That is certainly… _convenient_."

"After Job's trial ended, God blessed him with thousands of animals and ten children, and most likely even more than that, as it says "twice as much than before," but then doesn't necessarily elaborate. I passed the Trial of Job, and now I'm being blessed."

Lou nodded. "I can see it. So, Rapid City? Never been there before, but I think I can get us there in mostly one piece."

"Wait, what? Lou, don't you dare-!"

The witch girl laughed hysterically, sucking both herself, Percy, and Kira in a space between spaces for all of a second.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They all came out of Lou's spell in a blur of color and motion, luckily atop a building instead of in the middle of the road.

"My clothes feel weird," the witch noted.

Percy was frowning. Deeply. "So do mine. Would you mind switching our clothes back? Your underwear in uncomfortable."

Lou smirked deviously. "What? Can't handle a little wedgie?"

"I was referring to your training bra."

"My training bra!?" Lou practically screeched. "I'll have you know that I wear a large B!"

"Congratulations," Percy deadpanned. "Fix our clothes, please."

Grumbling about the blow to her chest, Lou Ellen muttered a quick spell and in a puff of smoke, the teens had their appropriate garments back in place.

"Thank you. Please refrain from sudden teleportations like that ever again, until you have the clothing problem fixed. Now, let's get going."

"Where are we going?"

"To the grocery store."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lou turned her suitcase into a handbag, and hid Kira inside it. Her best guess as to why they were going to Walmart was that Percy had the strongest suspicion that one of these Assassin guys was going to be there…for some reason. Getting some eggs, she supposed.

Percy walked with his hands behind his back, his steps powerful and measured. Lou didn't struggle to keep pace, but it was faster than a leisurely walk, and she wanted to protest their speed when they were going at it for no apparent reason, and then Percy slowed down to a pace more suited for the elderly.

Then he turned around.

Lou did as well, and she was startled to see a man in a white hoodie and a pair of blue jeans standing behind them from eight feet away. His clothes weren't what made Lou flinch slightly: it was the man's face. He looked exactly like Altaїr and Ezio.

In his hand was a basket filled cartons of eggs.

"Desmond," Percy greeted.

"Percy," Desmond nodded. "Where've you been?"

"Tied to a chair. Is it just you here, or are you with friends?"

"Just me. The rest are on the farm."

Lou's ADHD kicked in. "If you're on a farm, why are you buying eggs?"

"Dairy farm," Desmond answered.

"Ah. Carry on then."

"Who's she?"

"My girlfriend. Lou Ellen, this is Desmond."

"Hi."

Desmond inclined his head, then looked at Percy. "You're late. By a lot."

"Like I said: I was tied to a chair."

Desmond looked skeptical, but as he had no way to refute Percy's claim, he just hummed. "Well, this is all I came to get. I take it you want me to bring you guys back to the house?"

"That would be appreciated, yes. Thank you, Desmond."

"No problem."

Lou blinked at the exchange between the boys. It was like they were old friends or something.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Outskirts of Rapid City_

" _The Farm"_

Percy nodded. "Not bad. Secluded. Out of the way, and plenty of space to practice technique."

Desmond just nodded, and Percy began to feel a foreboding feeling. The older teen put the truck in park, pulled the key out of the ignition, and went for the house's front door, Percy and Lou following. Before they reached said door, the son of Poseidon gently grabbed the daughter of Hecate's arm.

"Please, be serious now."

Lou Ellen nodded seriously. "I'll be nice, though I will defend myself if necessary."

"I would expect nothing less."

Inside the house, there were not as many Assassins as Percy previously thought, but he was told that most of them were out in the city on errands.

"Welcome," a man in his forties declared. By his resemblance to Desmond, Percy correctly guessed that this man was Desmond's father, and that, by his voice, this was William Miles, the man on the walkie talkie from three months ago. "You must be Percy Jackson. A pleasure to finally meet in person."

"Likewise. I trust that we have answers to each other's questions?"

"I believe so. How about we take this somewhere more private?"

"Agreed. Lou, play nice with the other kids."

William looked to his son. "Desmond, keep everything under control."

Desmond nodded. When Percy and William disappeared up the stairs, Lou spun around and brandished a Ouija board at the present Assassins. "So, who wants to summon the dead!?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, do you want to go first?" Percy asked after getting comfortable on a couch, William opposite of him.

"Since you're offering…who are you, really?"

Percy smiled, internally wondering how much the man before him could handle. "Well, Mr. William, that depends on how much faith you have in the truth." Percy leaned forward, serious as the plague. "Can you trust me enough to believe that everything I divulge is the truth?"

William stared long and hard at the boy before him. He looked into those eyes, he regarded that posture, he saw the seriousness in that face. He recognized that he wasn't dealing with a _child_ , but something that looked like a child, and he knew, from the deepest part of his being, that everything he was about to be told, no matter how outlandish it sounded, was going to be the truth.

He leaned forward. "I will trust you, and I will believe you."

Percy just grinned. "No you won't," he observed, and it was an observation born from years of experience, but he forged on. He recounted his past lives as Faris Ibn-La'Ahad and Vergil Cavaliere, and he provided terrifying detail of each. Mission reports, feats, accomplishments, even personal records that were but briefly mentioned in Altaїr's, Ezio's, and Vergil's codex's. He left out most of the mythological aspects of himself, being the son of Poseidon, the existence of the gods, and other gods, and the potential rising of Titan king, Kronos, but he did leave Lupa in the story, as the account of Lupa was backed up by Ezio, Claudia, La Volpe, Bartolomeo, and Niccolò Machiavelli.

At the end, William was mystified. "I'm sitting before a legend in the body of a child…"

"If that's how you wish to view it. Now, answer one of my questions: are you truly Assassins?"

"Yes, we are."

"Then the Templars yet exist?"

William hesitated, and Percy saw pain, regret, anger, and disappointment in his eyes. "…yes."

"The way you say "yes" does not fill me confidence, William." And Percy asked the question he feared the answer to, "What is the state of the Brotherhood today?"

William laughed nervously. "Well…you see…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How the _fuck_!?" Percy thundered. And then he backtracked. "I'm sorry. Usually I'm far more composed. I'm just a little bit—" his eyes became bloodshot— " _absolutely livid_.

"You mean to tell me…that the Assassin Brotherhood allowed the Templars to become the most powerful corporate conglomerate on the planet…? And you mean to tell me that…a single sleeper agent—a _single sleeper agent_ —killed the Mentor of the day, and _that_ was enough to completely cripple a world-wide organization of professional killers…?"

"And there's the fact that Templars have access to better technology, better weapons and equipment, better personnel, and better trainers," William coughed.

"Yes, and there's that fact," Percy said with utter contempt. "William, I distinctly recall two times in which the Templars were vastly more outfitted than the Assassins, and they were brought to heal both times. I recall the Third Crusade, in which the Templars—the Nine, as they're called—were all in positions of great power and influence, all in possession of great wealth, and were all killed by my brother, hardly without a fight. The second instance I recall is the Renaissance, when Ezio hunted down every single member of Rodrigo's Order, including, but not limited to, the Pazzi, the Doge of Venice, and the Pope himself, nevermind after that little dance through history the fact that Ezio and I cleaved through the Borgia, who had literal total control over Italy."

Percy took a breath. "William, words cannot describe how severely disappointed I am, especially after I took great care to spread the Brotherhood across the world at the onset of the Sack of Rome. It seems my efforts were in vain, and that is very, very frustrating."

William just rapidly nodded his head.

"Something happened," Percy said. "Even if the Templars became as powerful as they are, and the Mentor was killed, that's not enough to bring down our organization. It had to have already been on the decline beforehand…so what happened, William?"

As it turned out, Percy was right. There had been an event, just two hundred years ago, in fact, and that event was the start of the end for the Assassins.

"December 24, 1800," William began. "Napoleon was going to the opera, and the Royalists didn't want that to happen, so they set up the Infernal Machine. They were going to shoot it when Napoleon got close enough, and blow him up. Naturally, the Assassins intervened. Cheyenne Cormac was paired with Arno Dorian, and that's where everything known, ends. What is next known, is that Arno returned to the Bureau, and he proceeded to slaughter everyone there."

Percy's eyes twitched, and he fought off the urge to grab his head as something like a migraine came over him. He felt like he should know this story.

"Some records say that there was an assailant with Arno, other records say that he was by himself. Regardless, whether singlehandedly or with a small army, Arno laid waste to the French Brotherhood, and he moved on to Cairo, where a Piece of Eden was located, but he was captured, interrogated, and then executed. Despite the methods used, nothing was gleaned from Arno as to what his motives were, but he kept screaming that the Assassins were all liars, and no better than the Templars. He went mad."

"Mad with grief," Percy whispered, trancelike.

"Sorry?" William said.

But Percy remained silent, his mind in a blank place. He rose, and a hand went to his forehead, as if nursing pain. He staggered, details coming to him through the fog.

"He was in love with her…and rejected her over something petty…and they separated…then they reunited…one last time…the Infernal Machine…she died…someone else was there…silver…a circlet…I've seen _her_ …Arno learned something…something devastating; it broke him, changed him, and they—both of them—they…they… _they…_ "

Percy slammed his head into the nearest wall, breaking it. William bolted to his feet, striding over to check for facial damage. To his surprise, the only thing that marred the boy's face was dust. His eyes were unfocused, and so William immediately began patting his cheek, trying to get him back in the game.

After the fifth tap, light returned to Percy's eyes, and he snagged William's hand in a grip far too tight for a child. "Stop that."

"Sorry, I just get a little concerned when people start banging their heads into walls."

Percy looked at the dent, then back to William. "Apologies."

He removed himself from the man's grasp, and clasped his hands behind his back. "So, the Brotherhood is shambles, the Templars are steadfastly ruling the whole world, and are monstrously superior in everything. Just like old times." A very dangerous smile pulled at Percy's lips, and his eyes, unseen by William, briefly turned pure yellow.

He looked back at the acting Mentor, green eyes serious.

"William, gather the Assassins. There's work to be done."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **I suspect that was less modern brotherhood than you thought, but that was all I intended. Percy to meet William, a brief little discussion, and the resolution to whip the kids into shape.**_

 _ **The mystery thickens around the Fourth Life, or have you pretty much figured out what happened? I'm curious as to what your theories are.**_

 _ **Anyway, I regret to announce that this story, as well as**_ **Ghoul** _ **and**_ **Sea Devil** _ **, are now on hiatus as I begin work on a different project, a bloody one. I will return, but I don't know when, so be on the lookout.**_

 _ **This is DelayedInspiration, signing off for now.**_


	32. Disable the Hand

_Disable the Hand_

 _ **This is DelayedInspiration, signing back on for now. It's been almost two months, and I don't care. We're back, and the plan is to roll through some exposition and jump into the Third Life arc.**_

 _ **Without further ado, Percy's teaching skills!**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural tea of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late September to early June was a long time. Roughly as long as it takes for a human baby to develop inside the womb. More importantly, it was more than enough time for Percy to whip everyone's collective ass into shape.

It was a rough start though.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Percy smiled. "My name is Percy Jackson, and form this point forward until I dee otherwise, I will be teaching you about how to be Assassins."

Muffled laughter rippled through the thirty-nine assembled men and women.

"You?" one bold individual stepped forward. He was a lithe man, a swimmer, medium in height, with a generous amount of facial hair and shortly cut hair on the top of his head.

Lou was off to the side, holding her Husky puppy, Kira, in her arms. Kira growled at the man, though her growls were not loud.

"What are you? Eleven? Twelve?"

"Thirteen."

" _Ooooh,_ my bad," he said with exaggerated hand motions. "You hear that? Our teacher is thirteen."

"Stand down!" William barked.

Percy raised a hand. "Peace. What is your name, son?"

"Blake Rodgers."

"Come forward, then, Mr. Rodgers, and demonstrate your superiority."

"What?" Blake blinked, now confused.

Percy smiled. "Come and fight me."

Blake hesitated, and now the whole congregation was uneasy. Sure, children were known for their overestimation of themselves, but the vibe all of them were getting from this boy was not one of arrogance. One Assassin overcame her anxiety and said, "Come on, Blake. Rough the kid up a little and let's get on with this."

Blake had six inches on Percy's 5'3, and probably thirty pounds, but he was unbalanced now. Then he hocked up a loogie and dirtied the ground. He raised both his fists and took three hard steps forward into Percy's guard…and he wasn't sure after that.

There was a blur of motion, a feeling like a baseball colliding with his lower jaw at sixty-five miles an hour, and then the unforgiving solid earth.

Percy lowered his arm back to his side, his smile never wavering at the stunned crowd before him. "Now, can anyone tell me what Mr. Rodger's mistake was?"

Silence reigned until Percy pointed directly at someone. "You there. Name?"

"A-Ah, um…"

"Ms. Um it is then. Now, Ms. Um what was Mr. Rodger's mistake?"

"…he underestimated his opponent…?"

"Very good. That leads us into Lesson 1: _never_ underestimate your opponent. I don't care if it's an autistic monkey or a vegetable in a wheelchair. Overconfidence kills. Now, I need to get a gauge on everyone's physical capabilities…let's go for a run!"

That's how Percy learned that everyone's cardio needed work, along with their hand-to-hand, knife-throwing, climbing, assassinating techniques, and stealth.

No one had a problem with learning how to kick ass, free-climb anything, be like a ninja, or kill quietly, but there was frustration with the knives.

Targets had been set up, and generous amounts of knives were provided for everyone. The exercise was being met with limited success, as where Percy had shown the proper technique and demonstrated, there was still trouble with getting the wrist right, never mind the accuracy part. Knives were slamming into the targets at random places, bouncing off, getting stuck, or missing completely.

One Assassin, an older teen named Brian Court, threw his final knife and watched it ricochet off to the side…just like every other knife he had thrown. His howl of frustration was heard by all.

By this point, Percy had earned respect, and Brian showed it.

"Sir, why are we throwing knives? We live in a world of guns and buttons. All the Templars have to do is press a button and we're dead."

Percy nodded. "A fair question. Does anyone have a preliminary answer?"

"Throwing knives are an Assassin tradition?"

"Easy to conceal?"

That was all Percy got, and he just nodded. "Both are practical answers, but not the one I'm looking for. Brian, go down range and put your hand on the target."

Brian paled. "…sir?"

Percy gave him a hard look. When in teaching mode, and not asking for questions, being questioned was unappreciated. "Put your hand on that target, son."

Brian gulped and ran to do as instructed. Hesitantly, he put his hand over the bullseye. Everyone watched with apprehension, recognizing this scene from elsewhere. Percy took a knife and hurled it.

"YOW!"

Brian cradled his hand against him. "Ack-! Augh-!"

"You alright, son?"

"I think you might have broken a bone, sir," Brian gasped.

Percy had hit the palm of the teen's hand with the blunt end of the knife. On purpose.

"Indeed, I did. Now then, everyone, do you think Mr. Brian can press a button with a disabled hand?"

There were muttered No's and head shakes, and Percy forged on.

"Your enemy cannot hit the button, if you disable his hand. Beyond that, can anyone tell me why the enemy hitting the button in the first place is very, very bad?"

This time, there were no answers, until Desmond spoke up. "Never compromise the Brotherhood. If we're being shot at, that means we've been compromised, and if we've been compromised, that means we either screwed up, or we're up against someone better than we are."

"Couldn't have said it better myself. Do we see why knife throwing is crucial now?"

"We can use it to neutralize people shooting at us," Blake answered.

"Very good. As you were, ladies and gentlemen."

Of course, some Assassins had better learning curves than their peers, and one of them let it go to her head. Lily Jaures was that individual, and she had learned not to underestimate her opponents, which lead to many victories, victories that went to her head. The humility she possessed extended to the fact that she couldn't beat Percy (no one could beat Percy), and that was it.

She couldn't beat Lou Ellen, either, but Lou Ellen didn't participate in fights. She was the weird girl off to the side that was always holding a puppy.

Anyway, Percy needed to find a way to curb the woman, as her attitude was vexing to the other Assassins, and Percy knew for a fact that students like Lily were prone to dying very quickly, something he wanted to avoid as both a teacher, Mentor, and what basically amounted to a general.

And so he set up a week-long exercise of air-assassination tag where the ones he chose had to tag their peers by way of falling on them. Once tagged, you got to join the others above and finish tagging the rest. Last one untagged got a prize. Lily was chosen as one to have to be looking up.

She did a good job of dodging and avoiding places that would put her in danger, but she was tagged out…but not by any of the Assassins.

"Excellent technique, Kira," Percy praised the puppy.

Lou Ellen's pet yapped excitedly, wagging her tail with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She was sitting on the downed Lily's face.

"Off you go, girl. Back to your mommy."

Kira yapped again and scampered away to wear she smelled Lou Ellen's scent.

Percy leaned down to be eye-to-eye with the stunned Lily. "Congratulations. You were just air-assassinated by a puppy."

The nearby Assassins snickered at Lily's misfortune.

After that incident, Ms. Jaures was much humbler about her abilities.

As Percy taught, he also learned. The Modern-day Templar escaped him. Abstergo Industries escaped him. However, William knew the enemy well.

"They're into everything. Medicine, weapons, machines, teaching, trains, cars, planes, boats, politics, drugs, crime, government, commodities, food, video games, books, movies, media, the Internet, CCTV. Put it this way: the list of things Abstergo hasn't dipped their hands in is way shorter than the list of things they have."

William was grave and serious, while Percy was just staring at him flatly. "So they're your stereotypical evil conglomerate."

William frowned at how the enemy was being so underplayed. "Yes, I suppose, but-"

" _But_ nothing, William. The Templars have always been better equipped, with their armies and their technology, and yet we have never been eradicated. We've endured for centuries, and we will continue to do so today, and tomorrow, and for centuries after. The task before us is no different than the task previous. We will bring them down with superior tactics, superior ability, and superior minds."

William was awe-struck by the speech, and the determination and certainty in Percy's eyes and voice and posture and demeanor. It was yet another reminder to the older man that he wasn't dealing with an idealistic child. He was dealing with a highly experienced Master Assassin that had spent most of his life fighting against the Templar, and he knew damn well what he was talking about.

Now emboldened by the words of a thirteen-year-old boy, William nodded strongly.

"Never lose faith, my friend. We will win, just as good always triumphs over evil."

"Yes, Mentor."

While Percy was excelling at teaching his students, exponentially increasing their stamina, martial arts, technique, and ability, he was also furthering his personal relationships with those around him, particularly Desmond and Lou Ellen.

Percy was enjoying some down time up in his room, reading his Bible on the bed, when there was a soft knock at his door.

"Come in."

Desmond came through and shook his head. "After all these years, you're _still_ reading that storybook."

Percy's lips quirked up slightly. "God, forgive my brother for his blasphemous comments. He is ignorant and a fool."

"If he truly cared so much, then may he strike me down where I stand."

Desmond stood there, arms wide, and Percy watched him vigilantly. After a few seconds, Desmond shrugged. "Guess he doesn't care so much."

"He does. That's why you're still alive."

"Whatever, Faris."

"Good to see you too, Altaїr."

Desmond grinned and then a light appeared in his eye, a light Percy knew all too well.

"Desmond, don't you dare-"

The descendent of the Ibn-La'Ahad family launched himself at the reincarnation of the youngest Ibn-La'Ahad brother, only for the latter to roll away. Desmond flopped unceremoniously onto the bed, and the chase was on. Percy darted about the room, Desmond's larger size and longer reach giving him just a slight advantage in the small room against Percy's reflexes and speed.

They both had grins on their faces as they played, and the younger let himself be caught. Desmond dug his fingers into Percy sides, mercilessly triggering the nerves there. Just like old times, when they were boys in another life.

Minutes later, both of them breathing heavily after their fun and resting on the bed, Percy smiled slightly.

"Hello again, _alakh alakber_."

" _Alakh alsagheer_. Those were some strange dreams, but I know what they mean now. I'll try not to embarrass you too much."

"Don't forget who's the Mentor here, brother dearest."

"And don't forget who's older, dearest brother."

"Uh, me, because I'm Faris _and_ Vergil, and I have all of their memories and experiences, combined with my own, and all of those years together technically make me eighty six, which makes me _way_ older than you, you nineteen-year-old mess."

"Technically doesn't count. I am still older than you."

"And dumber. By a lot."

"The extent of your education is elementary school."

"You dropped out of high school to work in a bar."

"You…" Desmond was grasping at straws now. "You didn't even get through junior high."

"That's because I'm training forty men and women how to be professional killers in accordance with a centuries' old Creed, while also having education in arithmetic, science, anatomy, and philosophy from scholars and teachers of the Third Crusade and the Renaissance eras, as well as decades of being a Master Assassin. I have everything I need for this life."

"…I never could beat you in arguments."

"I keep telling you that if you read the Bible, you'll get the wisdom to keep up."

"I have no interest in a book of fairytales."

"Then I get to keep beating you~," Percy singsonged.

Desmond made a sound between a frustrated growl and a defeated moan.

On Lou Ellen's end of things, Percy had been up in his room, arms crossed. The past two weeks had been difficult. For a reason he couldn't put his thumb on, attitudes were sour, tensions were high, fights broke out between the Assassins, and Percy had to routinely raise his voice, something he rarely had to do as Vergil.

A knock at his door prompted verbal permission, and the witch girl entered, her puppy absent.

"Hey," Lou Ellen said.

Percy just hummed.

"You okay?"

"No. We've hit a rough patch and I don't know why, and since I don't know why, I don't know how to get past it."

Lou's mouth became set in a line, as she didn't have an answer either. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy's Bible on his nightstand. A layer of dust on it.

"Percy…when was the last time you read your Bible?"

The boy went still, but not in some kind of epiphany. He turned, "You cannot be serious? What's happening right now has nothing to do with me not reading the Bible."

"…you're right, my mistake."

Lou stood next to Percy and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She pulled him softly, and when he turned to look at her questioningly, she bitch slapped him with enough force to send him to the floor.

"Are you out of your mind!?" Lou screamed. "It literally has everything to do with you not reading the Bible! _You_ of all people should know that, Percy! Goodness, how any times has someone had God's favor, only to lose it because of something stupid, like beating the rock, or getting a freaking haircut. Man, how stupid would it be for you, who passed the Trial of Job and received God's blessing for it, to lose that blessing because you let dust collect on the Bible!?"

Percy was staring at Lou in wide-eyed shock at her admonition, an angry red handprint on his cheek. Usually with a speech like that, the one being talked down to would become heated and rush to defend themselves, returning fire. But with Percy, a speech like that hit home and resonated deeply.

"I feel dumb…I'm also reminded of Claudia. She used to scold me for things like that."

"Well, I am your girlfriend," Lou said with a grin, hands on her hips.

That same night, the witch crawled in Percy's bed, leaving her own room. Percy didn't mind; he even changed positions to where they could cuddle, which was made him frown.

"Lou, I thought you didn't wear diapers anymore."

"Not during long trips…still at night, though…" she mumbled, still half asleep.

"I thought you said Kira wakes you up before you have an accident?"

"She does."

There was the feeling of the sheets and blankets being pulled, and the Husky puppy settled down at the end of a bed and let out a little high-pitched yawn before curling into a little ball of floof.

"But Satan is a thing, and he could make Kira really, really sleepy to where she doesn't wake me up…you know, test of faith and all that. Besides, do you want to take the chance that I'll pee all over you?"

"Fair enough…why are you here?"

"Because you are my boyfriend, and I am cold."

Percy was sleepy enough to where he didn't really want to question any further, and so he just accepted the situation as it was. Come morning, he needed a cold shower, and Lou didn't need a change.

There were more stories of course, lots of fluffy little things between the brothers and the lovers, and lots of stories between the teacher and the students, but only three such stories were truly worthy of note.

The first story was when Percy had finally worked up the nerve to ask William about what happened to the Cavaliere line after the Sack of Rome.

"I don't have descendants somewhere in the world, do I?" Percy asked with half a smile, clearly uncertain and apprehensive of the answer.

The look on William's face did not inspire confidence, nor did the man's response to the question. "Let's go upstairs."

Once upstairs, Percy asked, very serious, and without a hint of nonsense about him, "What happened to my family, William."

It was not phrased as a question, but as a command, one that the father of Desmond followed promptly. He told Percy of how Claudia fell sick with grief for the loss of her husband and son, and died twenty four days after the Sack of Rome, and of how the sisters Christina and Maria became members of the Assassins, and of how Maria failed in her mission to prevent the death of Mayan emperor Atahualpa at the hands of Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizzaro Gonzalez, dying a day after her return to Rome due to disease, and of how Christina tried to preserve the bloodline, only for her lover to abandon her. To end his recounting of history, William told Percy of Christina's death during a failed assassination of Ivan the Terrible.

"I…I-I s-see…" Percy choked. "I need to be alone for a little bit."

William nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Then he practically jumped down the stairs and found Lou Ellen. She blinked in surprise, but no one could get a word out before _very_ heavy rain began pounding the surrounding eighty miles.

Lou became grim and sad, piecing together what had happened. "You told him about his wife and daughters."

"He needs you right now. I know that sounds strange because you're both thirteen, but he-"

"I know. I sleep with him."

"You _what_?"

"Oh, relax. He's a devout Christian, and I'm a follower. We're not going to do _that_ until we get married. Besides, we can't do it anyway. I haven't had my first period yet."

After that landslide of information that several had heard as this conversation had taken place in the living room where many were gathered to escape the cold and stinging rain, Lou Ellen bounded up the stairs to find her boyfriend sobbing into his hand with his other fingers dug in deep in the wall.

After a straight _hour_ of crying, Percy exhausted himself and crashed in Lou's arms. After three days of being holed up to mourn, he kicked his own ass back in gear, adhering to the words of Shin'en, and bolstering himself with this knowledge: Claudia, Giovanni, Christina, and Maria were all in a better place, all of them free of the earthly torments, and all of them patiently waiting on him. It was also a good thing that he didn't have any living descendants, as there were too many possibilities of just what they would be like.

Would they be average people, or Templars, or Assassins, or business people, or politicians, or military, or criminals, or school teachers, university teachers, retail managers, terrorists, etc. and knowing that he did not have any descendants through the Cavaliere line was a relief, because all of those possibilities were moot.

It would've also been a very awkward meeting.

The second great instance of note was when one Assassin, a spunky girl in her early twenties by the name of Marissa, acted on what she had heard Lou Ellen say: "He's a devout Christian."

It was during the downtime of the day that Marissa had knocked on Percy's door, and went in when given permission.

"So, it's true," she said upon seeing the Bible her Mentor set down. "You are a Christian. You believe in God and all that."

The corner of Percy's mouth slightly went up, for he recognized the coming conversation. "Yes," he said simply at Marissa's observation.

"You know it's not true, right? Jesus was a good man, teaching about forgiveness and all that, but he didn't have any special powers. He had a Shroud of Eden."

That term was new.

"Shroud of Eden?"

"It's one of the First Civilization Artifacts, like the Apple of Eden. It heals people. Jesus used its powers to bring back Lazarus, heal the blind, fix the lame, and the disciples used the Shroud to bring Jesus back to life after the Templars had him killed. So, the stuff behind Jesus' miracles wasn't the power of some magic sky man, but a First Civilization Artifact. Therefore: God's not real."

To her credit, Marissa had no smug look, nor did she have a superior tone of voice. She maintained a level of calm and spoke academically, like reciting a research paper. Unfortunately for her, Percy already had such a debate with Ezio…and literally dozens of other Assassins.

"To counter your information on Jesus, let me ask you: from where did you glean this information?"

Marissa met his eye. "From the Templar archives. We were able to hack them, and we took dozens of megabytes of data. In some of the stuff we got out with, the truth of Jesus was there."

"The Templar archives," Percy echoed with a grin. "We are talking about the same Templars who seek world dominion by destroying religion, capitalism, and governments, yes? The same Templars who seek to remove all division and free will from mankind, right?"

"…right."

"So, if the Templars' goal is to destroy free will and end religion, does it not make sense that a tactic they would use would be to discredit religious leaders like Jesus?"

"Yes…but that doesn't mean the Templars are wrong about Jesus. There are Shrouds of Eden. The Frye twins Jacob and Evie, their little brother Peter, along with Henry Green, fought the Templar Grand Master of the British Rite in London, Crawford Starrick, over a Shroud, and they killed him."

Percy felt that response was way over-detailed, especially that title, but he moved. "So because there are Shrouds of Eden, and because the Templars said so, Jesus used a Shroud?"

"…we only got dozens of megabytes. There's more information on the servers. Besides, you can't disprove Jesus didn't use a Shroud."

"Really? In all the historical documentation for Jesus, is there ever a mention of Jesus using a cloth to heal people?"

Marissa was silent.

Percy continued. "Even if Jesus was using a Shroud, that doesn't explain how he turned water into wine, or fed five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish. And consider this, my student: what if the Shroud was but one of many of God's gifts to Jesus?"

"…then that would mean Jesus' healing came from the Shroud…"

"And how did Jesus get the Shroud?"

"From God…"

"Therefore, by proxy…"

"…the healing powers came from God…"

"Precisely," Percy smiled.

Marissa's brow creased. "But the Pieces of Eden disprove God, because the Pieces were made by the Isu, the precursor race that made man."

"Ah~, and now we get to Those Who Came Before, and my own limited knowledge. I do not know how the Isu came to be, or how they fit into the equation, but I do know this is fact: God made everything we know, and everything we do not know. Our failure as human beings to grasp the full extent of the universe is not a measure of the existence of God, but a measure of our limitations as earthly creatures."

Marissa spent a long time trying to come up with something to say to that one, and when she couldn't get anything off the ground, she huffed. "Dammit. You are _thirteen_. Why is it so hard to get a rise out of you?"

Percy snorted. "Little girl, I was married for thirty years and raised three children while leading a continental-wide operation of underground killers while also managing a multi-country network of spies and informants on top of managing the economy of a city while practicing the Christian faith in the Catholic capital of the world while simultaneously teaching teenagers and adults the arts of assassination and espionage at the same time I was organizing operations between thieves, mercenaries, and courtesans while also being a therapist and religious consulate to anyone who needed me."

Percy took a breath, and then fixed Marissa with a very amused look. "You've got a _long_ way to go before you'll be able to get a rise out of me."

Drowning in questions yet completely defeated and demoralized for a reason she couldn't explain, Marissa trudged away.

The third and final instance of note was Lou Ellen William's kickstart into puberty….Well, not really, as that would be just be plain weird, but it was the grand catalyst for the third event, and that event was the ending of the secrets.

That fateful morning, Lou Ellen and Percy woke up, and Lou immediately sighed.

"What's wrong?" the Mentor asked.

"Had an accident," the witch replied.

"I see. Do you need any help?"

Lou rolled over enough to where Percy could see her raised eyebrow. "You want to change my diaper?"

"I've changed the diapers of three children in an era where disposable diapers were several centuries away. Yours would hardly be any different, but that's not what I meant by 'help' and you know it."

"Eh, just teasing. In all seriousness though, no. This is the first time in literal months that I wet. It's hardly enough to get me to start cursing and questioning and blaming God for this, especially after I've already got it in my head that the Devil will eventually test me anyway."

"Good to here."

"Yep. Positive attitudes are the best. Now excuse, I'm going to take a bath."

The farm house was rather large, with many bedrooms and bathrooms and spare rooms for whatever purpose was required. As such, Lou and Percy had their own bathroom they could use without concern of having to wait on anyone to get finished. Perks of being the Mentor and the Mentor's girlfriend.

But, just because the two had a room and bathroom all to themselves, did not mean that extremely loud sounds were not heard for a certain distance. I.e. Lou Ellen's very high shriek.

Percy flew from the bed to the hallway, literally breaking the bathroom door as he shattered the hinges, there were several thumps as others came racing from below and down the hall, but as Percy got there first and saw what the problem was, he slammed the door shut and held it place. Then he turned and addressed the Assassins that had gathered with guns and Hidden Blades ready for use.

In a dead serious tone with a dead serious face, Percy said, "All of you leave. Go down and inform the house that everything is under control and the problem has been handled. William, go get Rachel."

While no one was satisfied with that, the abosulte zero tolerance for disobedience in Percy's voice made everyone comply in an instant. Moments later, the woman known as Rachel ascended the stairs, followed by William. Rachel was the oldest woman present, being thirty-eight.

"Thank you, William. Leave us."

The man nodded and left, and Rachel asked, "What's going on?"

And Percy straight up told her. "Lou Ellen has started her period. Her mother isn't around, and her father is attending to his job, so I need you to be the parental guide she needs right now, chiefly the maternal guide."

Rachel looked at him. "You are not a normal thirteen-year-old boy."

"Was your first clue my ability to defeat multiple full-grown adults in physical combat, my outstanding knowledge of the Creed, or my teaching skills? Now get in there and me a mom real fast. Please and thank you."

Rachel nodded and did as instructed.

What followed was a typical thing, with the woman staving off questions concerning the red-stained absorbent undergarment that was sitting in the sink, embracing her full maternal instincts. Percy was probably an even bigger help that Rachel though, as there wasn't a hint of mirth about him.

He was completely serious, completely calm, and completely without judgement. He handled the whole situation with textbook skill and ability, answering all questions asked of him and performing all tasks requested of him immediately and without complaint.

Rachel was deeply impressed, and Lou Ellen was grateful.

Knowing it was going to happen was one thing. Waking up to cold blood that was crusted all over your nether regions was another. That happening and your boyfriend taking it all very seriously and very calmly was something out of this world.

Percy did, after all, have a girlfriend, a wife, and not one, but _two_ daughters in a past life, so he was quite experienced with menstruation.

Come the Fourth Life, he was going to be able to give a detailed rendition about the subject, but that was chapters for a later time.

When the situation calmed down, Rachel asked about the diaper, and Lou admitted to her bedwetting. Rachel took it all in stride, and asked if Lou was going to need more diapers for her bleeding, to which the witch denied and asserted her firm stance on the use of a tampon. Anyway, the true point of all of this was that every girl's period was different, and Lou's period came with extreme overreactions to the tiniest inconveniences.

Which was not good when combined with destructive magical powers.

For example: a younger Assassin was wrestling with Kira and made the puppy yelp when he flicked her little ear. Lou flew off the handle and turned the hapless young man into a dog biscuit that she was going to then feed to the Husky puppy, and Percy very quickly stepped in and told her turn the Assassin back, to which she complied…and she proceeded to break down into a sobbing mess in Percy's arms.

All of this happened in front of the roughly thirty gathered slack-jawed Assassins.

And that to the ending of the secrets.

"I have lied via omission to all of you," Percy said to the whole congregation. "In truth, I am the reincarnation of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad and Vergil Cavaliere, and Lou Ellen is an actual witch."

There was silence, before one Assassin said, "Ha! All of you suckers pay up!"

There were groans and muffled complaints as everyone reached for their wallets and began forking over money to the smug young man by the name of Caleb. When this process was done, Percy raised a brow and uttered one word, "Explain."

"Oh, come on, Mentor," Caleb grinned. "A kid swan-dives from the St. Louis Arch, kicks the butts of half a dozen full-grown Assassins, and starts teaching all of us with more skill and experience than literally any other Assassin today, and Lou has that vibe around her…so we all took bets on who you two really were."

"And you bet specifically that I was the reincarnation of two Masters, and that Lou was a witch?"

"Yes."

"…well done, my student. Now that we have that out of the way, it's time for knife-throwing practice."

And that was show the big reveal went over.

None of the above happened in any particular order, but the holidays were chronological. Halloween came, and Percy asked, "Lou, since it's Halloween, and we're both connected to the supernatural, is there anything that might happen tonight that'll concern us?"

Lou put a hand to her chin in thought. "We might have an evil witch to deal with, like, one of the witches that sold her soul to Satan. Other than that, not really."

"I see."

"Wanna watch _Nightmare Before Christmas_?"

"Sure."

That night, there were some weird things that happened, like doors opening and closing with a creek, some lights that randomly came on, a few loud sounds, like banging furniture, and all of it took away Lou Ellen's snuggle time. So, with bleary eyes and frizzy hair, the witch girl went stomping out of the bedroom, through the halls, down the stairs, to the basement of the farm house, where she found a haggard old hag on top of a dresser.

To anyone watching the farm house, they would've seen the front door get thrown open, and an old lady go flying out the portal with a scream, a scream that was cut off via a faceplant in the dirt. Then a girl poked her head into the night.

"The power of Christ compels you to stay out!"

Then the door was slammed shut and that was it.

Thanksgiving was much tamer, with the usual feast of pies, cookies, and a turkey, and Percy made sure everyone here made sure that they knew the exact reason why they were taking place in the eating of such a meal. It was the next day, that Percy liked to lose it when the daily news was swamped with reports of Black Friday injuries and madness.

"What…exactly…happened to this country…to where the very next day— _hours,_ even—after people give thanks for the things they already have…they _actively injure_ each other for more things?"

Lou Ellen spread her hands, a rainbow appearing between them. "Corporate America and the death of the meaning of Christmas."

South Dakota rumbled that day.

Christmas was a good day, too.

There eventually came a point where training needed to be turned into experience, and the nearby Rapid City had its fair share of problems. Percy sent his students out to perform missions of his choosing, and return with proof of their accomplishment, while not getting caught or compromising themselves or the Brotherhood.

His training of them showed well, and everything he set before them was accomplished.

Come the beginning of June, Percy had whipped them all into a physical and mental shape the likes of which hadn't been seen in the order for decades, and it was very clear to everyone that training was over, which prompted the big question: what now?

"We expand," Percy said. "The past nine months have been spent shaping your bodies, honing your skills, sharpening your minds, and increasing your knowledge. All of you have demonstrated your ability to me, and I deem all of you to be worthy members of the Assassin Brotherhood. As such, the duty now falls to you to reach out to our brothers and sisters across the globe. We need information before we can act. By the end of the summer, I expect all of you to have _detailed_ reports about our strengths and weaknesses, and those of our enemy."

"What will you be doing, Mentor?" an Assassin asked.

"I have missions of my own to perform."

"…what kind?" was the hesitant question.

"None of you worry about it. What you need to worry about is deciding which Bureau you will be going to, keeping the Assassins there alive, and training them up as I have you. Upon the first of September, I will be finding all of you, and I expect information."

The air in the living room changed, becoming serious. Percy stood a little straighter, and everyone else did as well. Assassins slid off stools and rose from the couches and chairs, and those leaning against the walls became erect.

"We have been dealt a great blow," the Mentor started. "The Templars have risen far above us to attain positions of great power and authority in this world. They have wealth, they have weapons, and they have an army capable of using both. They control the courts and the governments, and they will turn all of society against us, but when other men blindly follow the truth, remember…"

Quoth the Brotherhood, "Nothing is True."

"In the world of today, restrictions bind mankind. It is common knowledge that corporations and their greed run the world governents, and the officials in office bend to these powers for a larger check, and yet no one does anything to put a stop to it. In public, one can be seen assaulting another, while passersby hurry along in the hope to not be involved, for they fear repercussions about themselves. Even the justice systems have become corrupted and tainted, preventing what needs to be done from being done, so when other men are limited by morality or law, remember…"

Quoth the Brotherhood, "Everything is Permitted."

"Remember that our Creed does not command us to be free, but commands us to be wise," said the Mentor. "We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins."

Lou Ellen muttered the word _peels_ , and when the Assassins awoke, they found before them a large table with neatly organized Hidden Blades.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy had not been lying about his own missions. He and Lou had shared a dream, one that involved the satyr Grover fleeing from a massive figure, rambling about powerful nature magic, a poisoned tree, and a failing barrier that protected dozens of children from evil forces.

It was time yet again to become acquainted with the Greeks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Oh, that felt splendid to write. Everything was coming smoothly, motivation was there, time was bountiful, and there were no blocks or snags.**_

 _ **Much information in this chapter, with spurts of comedy, seriousness, and lore. I am sorry about the lack of action and fighting and invigorating content, but every once and a while there needs to be a boring exposition chapter that sets up the next chapters.**_

 _ **Now, the great big question about this story that everyone has is just how do the Ones Who Came Before fit into everything? Especially when they are the ones who made mankind, and they existed 80,000 years prior to all of canon, long before the Olympian gods, or even the Egyptian or the Norse, or even the much earlier civilizations of Mesopotamia and Sumer. Not even the Titans go back that far, and PJO canon states that the first humans were all male and born from Gaea (look up Golden Age on the wiki).**_

 _ **So just how does all of it tie together?**_

 _ **Did Gaea make man? Did the OWCB? Did God? What about the Olympians? The Pieces of Eden?**_

 _ **That's kind of the problem, writing about two worlds that have yet to be completed, the lore still piling on. Riordan has yet to fully finish the world of**_ **Percy Jackson** _ **, as he still has two more books in the**_ **Trials of Apollo** _ **, and there's not telling what comes next, and never mind**_ **Assassin's Creed** _ **having no end in sight, with new stuff about the Isu being revealed every game.**_

 _ **In light of that, it makes building a hybrid world with current information difficult, especially when new information comes out that completely undermines everything you have already written.**_

 _ **It's kind of like reading**_ **Naruto** _ **fics from '03, back when the Akatsuki and Jinchuuriki weren't all fleshed out, and writers took it upon themselves to make them fleshed out, and then you compare those to what we have today and it's just like "That's wrong, dude. The Five-Tails isn't some elemental wolf; it's a dolphin-horse. And the Akatsuki aren't demons; just rogue ninja."**_

 _ **Trust me. Go back through the fandom pages, and you will find fics based on really outdated information and it just makes you feel weird.**_

 _ **Anyway, back to PJO canon next chapter, the**_ **Sea of Monsters** _ **, with the swashbuckling Third Life arc right in the middle. Since this chapter is out, the poll for Annabeth in**_ **Sea Devil** _ **is now closed, and most fans have voted in favor of going to Roanapur.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	33. Prelude to the Third Life

_Prelude to the Third Life_

 _ **Funny thing, since my classes are online, I'm one research paper away from finishing the semester a full two weeks early. I think for that paper I'm going to research how PoundMeToo is like modern-day McCarthyism, and a rendition of the French Revolution's Terror and the Salem Witch Trials.**_

 _ **But anyway.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Camp Half-Blood_

In Lou' forest cabin, she, Percy, and Kira appeared in a swirling blur and a snap.

"Ah, home sweet home away from home," the witch sighed. "Smells like pinecones."

"I'm just happy our clothes weren't swapped."

Lou grinned proudly. "Told'ya I got the spell down."

"Excellent work. Now let's get going."

The camp was remarkably…quiet. Concerning, as this was the summer as this place was a summer camp. But, as the trio got closer to the Big House, they started to hear the distant sounds of battle, sounds that got steadily louder. With a shared look, they took off running for the hill.

Upon cresting the hill, they found the campers, a battalion of teens of various sizes and shapes all wearing Ancient Greek battle armor over orange t-shirts and jeans brandishing swords, spears, and shields at a pair of golden, mechanical bulls, each the size of a truck.

"Colchis bulls," Lou said with a tilted head. "Don't see those very often."

"Indeed not. Let's go."

One of the bulls let out a bull sound, and charged the line, causing the undisciplined Greeks to scatter with yelps and squeals, which caused Clarisse's face to turn as red as the color her late father was famed for.

"You idiots! I told you to hold formation!"

Her outburst attracted the bull, and it turned its beady red eyes to her. Clarisse gulped and dove to the side, narrowly avoiding getting gored.

"Ew, what's that smell, Clarisse?" Lou teased. "Need a change of panties?"

The daughter of Ares looked up from the dirt. " _Lou Ellen?_ "

"That is my name. Don't wear it out."

The bull turned.

"Whup. Here we go."

Lou braced herself, clenching her butt and tensing her muscles. Then she thrust her hands forward, and a magic circle, colored green and purple, sprung to life in front of her. The Colchis bull slammed into the magic, and the result was like that of a car speeding into a steel wall: the automaton smashed itself to dozens of little pieces.

Clarisse's jaw dropped, as well as the jaws of anyone watching, and Lou brushed nonexistent dust off her shoulder, then picked Kira up and held the puppy in her arms.

Meanwhile, Percy was dealing with his own Colchis bull. With a textbook taxicab whistle, he got his bull's attention, and it charged. Drawing the magic ballpoint pen from the hidden Minotaur horns strapped to his back, Percy brought Riptide back to the world for the first time in months. What followed could only have been pulled off by someone with impeccable reflexes, great speed, and breathtaking timing.

Percy had all of this.

When the Colchis bull got close, he spun to his left, avoiding the lowered horns, and then twisted back around enough to where, as the bull charged forward, it cut itself wide open along the length of Riptide. The magic sword cut through the metal hide like it was soft butter.

The automaton crashed to the ground, its eyes dying out.

"Praise the Lord," Percy muttered.

The crowd was stunned, both at the sudden appearance of the two most infamous half-bloods of the day, and at how easily the two attacking monsters had been taken down by said half-bloods, when a small army of _other_ half-bloods had not managed. The silence was short-lived, however.

"PERCY!"

"Yes? Oh, hi, Beck."

The behemoth of a black boy put his barrel arms around Percy and lifted him clean off the ground in a bear hug that not even a bear could have pulled off. Percy wheezed, and was then set down.

"Where on God's green earth have you been!?"

"Rapid City, South Dakota."

Beckendorf blinked. "Huh?"

"I needed some time to get sorted out after coming home to find my mother's corpse all over our ransacked apartment."

"…oh."

"Yes, _oh_ ," Percy smiled thinly. "Is Annabeth here as well?"

On cue, a blonde-haired child pushed her way to the front. "PERCY!"

"Why does everyone keep screaming my name today?"

Annabeth ran to the boy, eyes wide. "It—it's _you_ —it's r-really-"

She threw her arms around him, and Percy patted her back. The moment ended when Lou Ellen coughed.

"Off my boyfriend, please."

Annabeth pulled away with a look of shock. Her eyes went from Lou's to Percy's, checking to make sure what was in those windows matched what she had heard. To her dismay, she found only confirmation. The daughter of Athena couldn't keep the crestfallen tone out of her voice.

"Oh…well, congratulations!" she smiled, but it was very clear she was hurting a little bit.

Percy smiled sadly, sympathizing with the girl before him. "Where is Chiron? I need to speak to him."

At the mention of the centaur, Percy and Lou Ellen felt the collective atmosphere turn sour.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Is there some hidden plan, here? Some kind of ulterior motive that I don't yet see? Because I find your removal as director from this camp after several thousand years of loyal service, just because the tree got poisoned, to be very stupid."

Thunder rumbled distantly, and Chiron smiled knowingly. "Perhaps judging the judgement of the sky king is a little unwise."

Percy's eyes darkened. "The sky king has no power over me or my mouth."

Lou put a hand on his shoulder, and he calmed slightly.

"Zeus is well aware of the fact that you didn't poison the tree?"

"Of course," said Chiron, "but he blames the event on me due to his reasoning that I have been negligent in my teaching, and that my self-distraction kept me from preventing the catastrophe that was the lightning thief debacle, and the poisoning of the tree—and arguing the matter will not solve anything, I'm afraid. The only way to get through this, I feel, is to find a new source of power for the borders."

"You all know I'm a witch, right?" Lou Ellen piped up. "I have over a dozen books on spells, rituals, hexes, charms, curses, and summonings. I am a hundred percent positive that I can find _something_ —lots of somethings, actually—that can boost this place's barrier. It runs on magic, after all, and magic is what I'm all about."

"All help is appreciated, Ms. Williams, but I'm afraid Lord Zeus' judgement is absolute. Until such time that the barrier is fixed and the half-bloods safe, I must go into exile."

"Where are you going to go?" Percy asked.

"Oh, I have many kin throughout the world. I suspect that I will be going to Florida. It is a lovely place…when it's not being terrorized by typhoons," Chiron finished flatly.

Percy exhaled. "Is Dionysus supposed to run this whole place by himself, or do you have a replacement?"

A troubled look appeared across the old teacher's face.

"That does not inspire confidence, Chiron."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy watched with a deadpan gaze as Chiron's replacement chased down a turkey. Now, this wasn't a turkey that gobbled and had feathers on it, but a turkey that had been killed, stuffed, roasted, and was dripping with juice while running away on its stubby leg bones, somehow animated for the sole purpose of running away from the man trying to eat it.

Lou Ellen was snickering. "This is the greatest thing I've seen."

"Of all the people of the world, living and dead, Zeus appointed _Tantalus_? His own son that killed and served up _his_ own son, Pelops, in retaliation for not being granted ambrosia and nectar?"

"Yeah, I suppose that is pretty bad, but just _look_ at that!"

The turkey was dueling Tantalus, chair to frying pan…somehow. It was attracting quite the crowd.

Percy stared at the spectacle for a few more seconds, before he shook his head. "We don't have time for this. Grover said he was in Miami, tracking a source of nature magic so powerful he thought it was Pan, when he was taken by something. One of us needs to get to the Oracle so we can get some kind of idea of just where this is all supposed to lead."

"Sweet. After you. The Oracle creeps me out."

Just as Percy and Lou were going to leave to do just that, an old, scratchy voice cut them off. "And just _where_ do the two of you think you are going?"

The son of Poseidon barely gave Tantalus a sideways glance. "To work on restoring the border. Good day."

"Ah-ah-ah! Not so fast, Christian boy. As acting camp director, _I_ get to decide who does what around here, and I say-"

"As acting camp director," Percy spoke over the once-king, "I trust that you are considering the safety and well-being of the children under your care, the children whose lives are your responsibility, to be of the utmost importance. After all, if anyone here were to get hurt due to your negligence, I am sure you would several upset parents to deal with, both of the mortal and the divine kind."

Now Tantalus found himself on the receiving end of expectant and pointed looks. "Well, naturally, of course-"

"Yes, you say that, King Tantalus, but the fact that you murdered and cooked your own son does not instill within me confidence in your sincerity."

Muttering broke out amongst the campers, as they realized for the first time just who their new director was. A sweat broke out across Tantalus' face as he saw the dark looks he was receiving, and he realized he was losing standing very, very quickly. So, a threat.

"Yes, boy, you are correct in that I killed and cooked my own son. Knowing what I'm willing to do my own immediate family," the king smiled with a sinister gleam, "just what do you think I'm willing to do to you if you cross me?"

"I can wreck you like the Hindenburg," Percy said flatly.

"Oh, you might be able to," Tantalus said smugly, "but I don't think your peers will be willing to let that happen, especially not when I offer them a generous reward for defeating you in the chariot races!"

"Those were cancelled because the last time those happened, sixteen people were killed," an older camper said from the back of the crowd.

Annabeth crossed her arms and broke her silence. "Not doing a very good job of looking out for our safety and well-being by making us perform a banned event."

"Oh, nonsense," Tantalus waved off the concerns. "This will be a dumbed down race, like the modern-day NFL. All of you will be protected, cushioned, and swaddled like newborns, and any offenders will be punished at my judicial discretion. Now then," he clapped his hands together, "cabins have one hour to select teams and build chariots. Participation is mandatory, and resistance or refusal will be met with harsh consequences…not necessarily exclusive to your person."

The last part was directed to Percy, as a warning against rebellion.

 _If you act out, I'll punish everyone else and it'll be all your fault_.

For a reason the son of Poseidon couldn't accurately describe, he felt like running Tantalus through on a bladed tail he didn't even have, then opening his jaws impossibly wide in order to bite the man's face off, and then finish it all up by ripping the king in half and letting the cadaver bake in the sun.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For whatever reason, the camp had several old chariots just lying in the armory, and the cabins swarmed the area in fear of whatever Tantalus would do to them. With only an hour until the race began, time for dilly dallying was nonexistent.

However, with such a crutch deadline and a lingering threat, Percy confronted the wine god.

"Mr. D."

"Percy."

"For the love of God, tell me you are not okay with this."

"Hmm," Dionysus rubbed his chin. "Well, you see, cousin, I do not like this place. At all. I do not like half-bloods. They are physical representations of unfaithfulness, and half-bloods themselves are conniving tricksters who operate for the sole purpose of personal gain, all perfectly willing to screw over any that help them at the drop of a hat.

"That being said, I do love my sons very much, and it is a constant, never ending pain to be so close to them, and not be allowed to speak with them, or interact with them at all, and it is an even greater pain to know that their lives are in danger because of the failing magic, and to boot, they have to deal with Tantalus' antics for the time being, and the odious cretin and I have the unfortunate status of being half-brothers. So no, cousin, I am not okay with this."

"What is the punishment for killing a camp director?"

"Oh, banishment, torture, transformation, retail. It all depends on what the Olympian council decides upon at the trial."

"Ah-ha. But if the camp director were to be found in bed, not breathing, with no evidence of foul play…"

"Well, there'd still be a thorough investigation, as Father _is_ the god of justice and has a duty to perform, but if the investigation proved inclusive with no suspects or evidence to implicate or indicate suspects….Still, Tantalus is hardly the worst, and removing him may result in the instating of someone of even greater ill-repute. Perhaps the best course of action is the path of least resistance…for now."

"For now. Thank you, Mr. D, for your wise council."

"You are welcome, Percy." Then those purple eyes became just a little sad.

"Ah, past events…I am…it takes a lot for your father to do what he did. Your mother…I…if there's anything you need, ask, and I'll see what I can do."

"…I need a chariot."

Dionysus snapped his fingers, and a chariot appeared in a burst of wine fizz and the smell of grapes. "Done."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The chariot race wasn't the important part. Nor was it the fact that Lou Ellen teamed up with Percy. No, the important part was the attack by the Stymphalian Birds, and how the witch girl used a sound spell to make her screams very loud, and very high, which disoriented the birds well enough to where the Apollo cabin—who had the power to render themselves deaf, surprisingly enough—were able to shoot down the whole flock.

When later asked, Michael Yew explained that that their father often heard music so horrible, that he closed off his ear canals so that he didn't have to hear it, an ability passed to his children.

While the campers were all collectively nursing their ears, yet supremely grateful that the attacking birds were no longer attacking, the temporary camp director—who had yet to remove his orange prison jumpsuit—had a different opinion.

"What the bloody hell was that, girl?"

Lou Ellen frowned. "A sound spell I made based off Black Canary when I was seven."

"Really? It sounded more like a deliberate attack on the ears of all of Camp Half-Blood, which, as an attack, gives me valid ground to punish you."

"You're going to punish me for averting an attack by carnivorous birds?"

"The Stymphalian Birds were minding their own business, all content to watch the races, but your horrid driving no doubt irritated them and provoked them to attack. Therefore, this entire debacle is your fault. I hereby sentence you and Percy to a week of kitchen duty!"

"And that's where my patience reaches its limit," Percy muttered.

He took the center stage.

"Tantalus, I trust you believe yourself to be very powerful, correct?"

The man smirked, standing straight with a pompous look. "Of course. I _am_ camp director after all."

"Indeed, you are. I trust, then, that you are well acquainted with the democratic laws of this camp, yes? Specifically, the law that gives the campers the power to remove the acting camp director should he or she prove unfit for duty, via a majority vote?"

Tantalus froze. "What?"

Percy smiled cordially. "I call for a vote," he said loudly, everyone around hearing him loud and clear. "All those in favor of removing Mr. Tantalus as acting camp director, say 'aye.'"

There was a resounding chorus of "aye."

"All opposed say nay."

There was a distant chirping of a cricket.

"Apologies Mr. Cricket, but the majority have spoken." Percy continued to smile like a cashier dealing with a difficult customer.

Mr. D took that time to appear. "The votes are in. Good day, Mr. Tantalus. You will not be missed."

"Hey, wait-!"

The ground opened up at his feet and he vanished into the earth.

The wine god sipped his coke. "On the grounds of this camp missing an official director, I hereby declare a state of emergency and assume emergency powers. With these powers, I appoint Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, to lead a quest to restore order and balance…get going."

Percy gave a two-fingered salute, "Don't become the senate," and took off running for the Big House.

With his next words, Dionysus' voice became throaty. "I am the senate."

Lou Ellen hid her snickers behind her hand, but managed to say, "Not yet."

"It's treason, then. And the punishment for this treason is that all of you will be working together to clean up this mess."

The mess in question was the pile-up of wrecked chariots.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Up in the attic, Percy stood before the Oracle. "What needs to be done to save this camp?"

The shriveled mummy's eyes blazed green, and green mist billowed from the mouth. Then that raspy, serpentine voice said:

 _Yo-ho, yo-ho, we row beneath the black flag_

 _A rolickin' we go, we own the sea and skies_

 _The cyclopes' island is where the Fleece lies_

 _Return by the week's end, or all will be slag_

The mist was sucked back into the Oracle, and she became dormant.

Percy blinked. "That was…helpful."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To Percy's surprise, the camp had a legitimate war room down in the game room, with the ping-pong table serving as the main gathering area. Snacks and drinks were served upon request.

The reincarnation of Vergil outlined everything very easily. "On Polyphemus' island is the Golden Fleece, and we need to bring it back by the end of the week, or the camp will be overrun. Any volunteers to go with me?"

Katie Gardner, Clarisse, McKayla Brenn, Lee Fletcher, Beckendorf, Silena, the Stoll brothers, and Pollux and Castor Sargasso all raised their hands. All the cabin councilors raised their hands. And Lou Ellen was there, as she was officially claimed and had a cabin, however unofficial it was. She was an honorary member.

Percy hummed. "That was a stupid question as everyone here represents the most powerful of their cabin, which in turn makes all of you the most powerful demigods we have, and all of you will be needed to protect the camp from attacks."

"That didn't stop you from bringing me last time," Beck said.

"That was different, and you know it."

"That still just leaves one more person," Lou said. "Me and you will be going, so that leaves just one more to pick."

Percy met Lou's eyes, and the witch knew what he was about to say was going to make her very upset.

"You are not coming with me. You said it yourself that you have dozens of books on magic, so you know some ways to strengthen the border. I need you here to help with saving lives and protecting others."

The witch glowered. "…you make good points, but I'm still mad."

Percy turned his attention back to the councilors. "All of you return to your cabins and give them good news. Say something emboldening. I'll make a decision about my questmates in a few minutes. Lou, come with me, please."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Big House had many spare rooms for whatever purpose was needed, primarily that of bedrooms for guests. It was once such bedroom that Percy led Lou Ellen into, and the witch girl couldn't stop herself from cracking wise.

"I thought we were supposed to wait for marriage?"

Percy spun on his heal, glaring flatly.

"Kidding, kidding…but I'm not kidding about being mad that you sidelined me."

"I've given my reasons. Get over yourself. We both have a duty to perform, and a responsibility to everyone here, because we're the strongest."

"Yes, yes. The strong help the weak so the weak become strong and all that philosophy bruhaha. I still don't like it."

"And you're really not going to like who I'm picking to come with me."

"…who?"

"Annabeth."

There was a silence that lasted for eight seconds, until Lou Ellen's brain rebooted.

"Explain. Now."

"She's intelligent, quick on her feet, good in a fight, small, resourceful, and as just the two of us, that's less chances of something going wrong, and less of a chance of casualties."

"Quests are typically done with three people."

"The last quest involved five, and it turned out just fine."

Lou stared at him.

"The quest was fine. What came after was not."

"Whatever. The fact still remains that not only am I now being sidelined, I'm being sidelined for the girl that still has a crush on you, and wants you as _her_ boyfriend, and will see this as an opportunity to make a move."

"And do you have so little faith in me as to let her make that move?"

Now Lou Ellen felt bad. "Well, no…"

"Then, if you are so confident in the strength of our relationship and our faith in each other, why are you worried about Annabeth."

The witch seemed to struggle for a little bit, but then she huffed. "It's a girl thing. If you were a girl, you'd understand."

"I was a girl. You turned me into one."

"Yes, but you weren't a girl in love."

"No, I was a girl who was almost raped by the late pagan war god."

The witch kept to herself how she knew Percy was also a girl in the 18th century.

"Please, Lou. Do whatever you can to save this place. The kids here are good kids, all of them have families that love them."

"Fine. I still don't like how you're just up and leaving me, though."

"I'm not up and leaving you." Percy grabbed Lou's waist and swept her off her feet into a deep kiss. When he separated, he said, "I'm giving you something to look forward to. Dinner when I get back?"

Lou had hearts fluttering about her head. "Yeah…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Uh…sure." Annabeth blinked.

"Good. Meet me on the beach when you're ready."

With that, Percy left for the beach. It was perhaps the calmest place at Camp Half-Blood right now, and would forever be Percy's favorite place to be on all of the property. He settled into the warm sand and gazed to the horizon. A cruise ship was slowly passing along.

"Nice day, huh?"

"Indeed, it is. Hello, Hermes."

"Hey, cousin. How are…things?" the messenger god said lamely.

"Oh, same old, same old. Danger, peril, fate of the world at stake. Just another day at the office."

"Well, here are some things to help spice it up." Hermes handed Percy three duffle bags and a thing of vitamins. "These should come in handy, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you. What are the vitamins for?"

"They are multipurpose vitamins," Hermes said proudly.

"…what are they for?" Percy tried again.

The thief god continued to smile. "Multiple purposes."

"…thank you."

"You are welcome. Now, I bet you're wondering just where you're supposed to start the quest."

"Miami."

"That cruise ship out there is a good place."

Percy blinked. "…okay."

And then Hermes looked the boy in the eye— _really_ looked at him. Those old eyes were suddenly every bit of four thousand years. "Percy…if I've learned one thing in my long life, it's that you can't ever give up family, no matter what they do to you."

"You're talking about Luke. Whatever did happen to him?"

Percy didn't know. He had honestly forgotten about the lightning thief, due to far more pressing issues taking place in his life.

Hermes turned grim, but Annabeth called from the distance. Percy ignored it and kept staring at his divine cousin.

"Please look away so I can vanish mysteriously."

Percy slowly closed his eyes, and then slowly opened them back up. Hermes was gone. Conveniently before key information could be shared. The demigod just exhaled at this development, not surprised, but still irritated.

Annabeth came jogging down. "Ready. Who's the third member?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

"You're telling me we don't have a third member to our quest?"

"Worked out fine with five people last time. We'll be fine with two for now."

"Do you even have a starting point?"

Percy pointed to the distant cruise ship. "We are going there."

"…are we going to hijack it?"

"Maybe. Let's go."

"How are we going to get over there?"

"We're going to swim."

"Swim!? That ship has got to be _miles_ away! Even with our demigod stamina, that's impossible."

"You do realize that I'm a son of Poseidon, yes? I can get us there just fine."

"…right. My mistake. What're all these duffle bags for?"

"Supplies for our trip." Percy hefted two of them over his shoulder and tossed the third to Annabeth. "Now let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ah, Luke," Percy greeted. "I was wondering what happened to you. I see you've been busy. Tell me: where did you get this ship?"

"Generous benefactors," the son of Hermes answered. "Hello, Annabeth."

Those grey eyes burned with sadness and betrayal. "You poisoned Thalia."

Those blue eyes smoldered. "The gods did that to her."

Backtracking a little bit, Percy and Annabeth arrived at the ship, boarded, found it to be a mobile hideout for monsters, and then Percy allowed themselves to be captured so that they may be taken to the leader. As it turns out, that leader was in the captain's quarters, and he was also Luke.

Now Percy was fishing for information. No pun intended.

"Oh, stop it, you too. We could go back and forth all day about the shortcomings of the pagan gods. What I want to talk about is the past, present, and future. To start: what exactly happened after Grover, you, Beck and Lou Ellen got back to camp?"

"There was a celebration," Luke answered. "Big feast, burned the burial shrouds, and then you didn't turn up, your apartment was found destroyed, your stepfather shredded and your mother missing. A big panic broke out, I bided my time, and when it was clear you weren't going to show, I left a note explaining things and took my leave."

"And you were waiting for me because…?"

Luke spread his arms with an inviting smile. "I wanted to ask to join the revolution."

Percy stared at him flatly. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Kronos trying to make a comeback and dethrone his children to reassume power and reshape the world in his image under the promise of better treatment for the demigods…would it?"

"Hid the nail right on the head."

The son of Poseidon exhaled out of his nose. "Luke…you are a smart man. You know very well about how Kronos _ate_ his own children, and enforced power over his siblings through fear and intimidation. What makes you think he will deliver on a promise to us lowly demigods?"

"He swore it on the Styx," Luke defended seriously.

"Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades swore on the Styx to not have children, and yet here I am and there Thalia was, and I think the former three are doing just fine. I'm not quite sure oaths on the Styx are as binding for immortals as they are for mortals."

Luke looked at a loss for words, and so he settled for idealism. "Kronos will rise, and he will bring justice to the gods. All half-bloods in America are either with me…or against me."

"Only a Sith deals in absolutes."

Annabeth looked at Percy. "Why all the _Star Wars_ references?"

"Recently watched the movie. It's on my brain right now."

"Oh."

"Did you know that George Lucas convinced Carrie Fisher that there was no underwear in space, and so she went commando on set?"

"Really?"

The one-word question was four-fold, because Annabeth, Luke, and the Bear Twins, Agrius and Oreius, all asked.

"Yes, really. Also, there's a tsunami coming portside."

Heads turned, and Percy dropped the ultra-sensitive smoke bomb hidden up his sleeve. In the sudden chaos of obscurity and suffocation, the Assassin downed the Bear Twins in a single fluid stroke. Then he went for Luke…only for both of his Hidden Blades to strike off the older demigod's skin like it was made of diamond.

' _Well, that's certainly a problem for later.'_

Assassination failed, Percy retreated in the blink of an eye, grabbing Annabeth and yanking her out the door. She coughed the smoke from her lungs.

"Warning, next time, please."

"Apologies. Also, hold on."

Percy's hadn't been kidding about that tsunami. He had been working on it since the capture at the paws of the Bear Twins, trying to time it just right. While the intended time was when they were going to be surrounded by all the monsters on the ship, now worked just fine too.

The _Princess Andromeda_ nearly capsized.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy and Annabeth stole a lifeboat and were well on their merry way down south to the Bermuda Triangle.

"This is going to take _days_ ," the blonde said. "We were at Long Island, in New York, and we've got to get all the way down to Bermuda just to reach the topmost tip of the Triangle, and that's a four-day cruise—on an _ocean liner_! We're in a lifeboat!"

Throughout her rant Percy just kept smiling. "It's all going to be fine."

" _How!?"_

"Have faith in the Lord."

A fish flopped out of the water and smacked Annabeth up side the face. She didn't react.

"I take it you haven't been reading the Bible much," Percy observed.

The blonde sighed. "No…I just got…too busy. Moved back in with my dad and stepfamily, started middle school, monsters every now and then, homework, projects, mandatory tutoring because of my ADHD and dyslexia, bullies who are infinitely less intelligent than me…just couldn't find the time. I'm…sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Percy said evenly. "Just read. It'll all be fine."

Annabeth looked at him. "How can you be so sure of this stuff? I mean, our own _parents_ can't look after us. What makes Jesus or God any different?"

"They're not pagans."

"Is that really it?"

"Yeah."

"I wish I had your faith, Percy."

"Don't wish for it. Make it so."

Annabeth growled in frustration. "It's not that simple, okay! My dad didn't want me, my stepmother tried to kick me out, my stepbrothers actively got me in trouble by breaking things or getting hurt and blaming it on me, and when I was attacked in the night by hordes of spiders, all of them biting me and wrapping in their webs, and come morning all of it was gone and no one believed me, and I kept praying, and praying, and praying that Mom would do something, and she never did! So I took things in my own hands and left. How am I supposed to have faith in higher beings, when I have to be entirely self-sufficient?"

"By recognizing that they've been looking out for you the whole time," Percy said. "Annabeth, you are a very lucky girl. Your father didn't bully you and make threats of pain. Your stepmother didn't brutally beat you with a switch or a belt for the most minor of conveniences, and neither of them were alcoholics or smokers. Despite how 'bad' they were to you, they were never evil, and when you ran away, you didn't starve, and you didn't die. Many people in the world are not so fortunate."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to make you humble. I know you know of Lou Ellen's condition, in that exchange for her magical powers, she has chronic nocturnal enuresis. If she can learn humility, you can as well."

"The fatal flaw of children of Athena is hubris…"

"That is not an excuse to be petty."

"I can be petty if I want to," Annabeth sniffed.

Percy almost threw her into the ocean. Instead, he settled for a flat look and a raised brow.

"What?"

"As smart as you are, that is a very stupid sentiment." And then Percy recalled a conversation from nine months ago.

"As tragic as your story is, it's but one of billions, just like mine. None but a few thousand know it happened, and there's nothing they can do except send their regards. What happened between you and your mortal family doesn't even matter anymore; it's done, it's happened, it's over, and it's time to pick up and move on. Besides, you've reconciled with them already. The past grievances are moot."

Annabeth didn't think they were moot. "You don't have any idea what it's like, do you? Having no one you can go to, no dad, no mom, no grandparents or aunts or uncles. Your mother always loved you, didn't she? She always-"

The lifeboat flipped, sending both tumbling into the blue.

Annabeth was yanked down, down, down, and down deeper still, becoming cold, becoming compressed, becoming short on air. The sun above became a distant dot, and the daughter of Athena became terrified that she was going to be dragged to the very bottom of the ocean and either be crushed, eaten, or suffocate.

…no…that wasn't entirely true.

…not dragged… _pushed_.

And then she was being ripped back towards the surface. The water rushed past her with such speed that not only did it feel like she gained several hundred pounds, but it was also cutting her, the fine particles ripping past her skin. Then, in the blink of an eye, she broke the surface and landed in the lifeboat, coughing and spluttering.

Many things ran through her mind, chiefest of which was that she was alive, and diving down so deep and then surfacing so quickly created the dangerous phenomenon in the body called the bends, and now that she didn't die from drowning, she was going to die from decompression sickness.

Annabeth looked up at Percy with wide eyes.

Beneath the shadow of the hood he had drawn up, his face could not be seen. "Do not ever mention my mother to my face again."

His first mother had died giving birth to him. His second mother he had come home to find brutalized. His third had been ripped in half before his very eyes, just after seeing him in his deplorable state.

"And don't worry about decompression sickness. You weren't breathing any compressed air."

Upon realizing that, Annabeth also realized that it was evening, and there was an island in the distance.

"Where are we?"

"Approaching Bermuda."

The demigoddess' eyes popped out of her skull. " _How!?"_

"God works in mysterious ways."

The two spent the night in a hotel, separate rooms, of course, because Percy was still highly irritated with Annabeth, and in the morning, they bought a fishing boat and headed south for Polyphemus' island. All of this was purchased with the little green card from the Lotus Casino.

Due to the funk he was still in, memories of his mother still tormenting him, Percy had been mentally unfit to battle against both Scylla and Charybdis, on top of also fighting the straining engine of the fishing boat, while also trying to keep Annabeth as protected as he could, and everything went up in smoke and flame.

Meanwhile, the sword of Baron von Wolff glowed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Whew. Having time to write and being motivated to write are an amazing combination.**_

 _ **Not a clue if Camp Half-Blood has actual democratic rules on the director like that, but it makes sense to me that they would. But Mr. D. is exempt because he's a god.**_

 _ **I will admit the ending there was rushed, but I was getting bored and 6k is plenty of words for a chapter.**_

 _ **Now, unfortunately, I will be riding off for probably the next week and possibly a few days as I write my research paper, but I'll be back soon enough, and when I do, the Third Life will be in full swing.**_

 _ **Now, your preview…**_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Nassau, Bahamas_

 _September, 1715_

"Now you'll want to sail somewhere rich with plunder," Ben Hornigold advised Edward, after gathering a crew for the _Jackdaw_.

Thinking of such riches, Edward asked, "Have you heard of a place called the Observatory?"

"Aye," James Kidd answered from the bar. "It's an old legend like El Dorado or the Fountain of Youth."

Regarding the young man, Edward asked, "What have you heard?"

"It's meant to be a Temple or a Tomb, hiding a treasure of some kind."

Edward's heart beat just a little faster. "That's it! See, here." The scoundrel produced a piece of paper, the same he had stolen from his former compatriots the Templars.

As James examined the paper and its drawings, Ed Thatch looked over it once and scoffed. "Ah, rot! It's fairy tales you prefer to gold, is it?"

Before Edward could get something out of his mouth, someone dropped from below, landing on the wood floor of the tavern with a loud thump.

"It ain't no fairy tale, Thatch," the newcomer said with a grin.

He was a young man, fifteen years at the most, wearing a deep red coat that flared at the bottom and was cut into four tails, with red pants tucked into tough brown boots. There was a sash about the boy's waist, and around that red sash were many pouches, and four holsters, two at his sides, like Edward, and two more at his back. Across his chest was a bandolier with a few more small pouches, and on his back were a pair of cutlasses, sticking over his shoulders in an 'X.' On the hilts of these swords seemed to be attached guns.

To finish his outfit, the new arrival wore a big, black tricorn hat with a fancy feather coming out the top.

However, the most noticeable feature was the boy's skin, for it bordered between light and dark, marking him as a son of two worlds.

Edward broke into a grin. "Well, if it isn't little Jake Swallow."

"Not so little any more, Ed. You said you were looking for the Observatory?"

"Aye. Do you know anything about it?"

Edward, James, Ben, and Thatch were all paying close attention to the extravagantly-dressed young man, particularly James.

"Know anything about it?" Jake grinned. "I _been_ to the Observatory."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Martha's Vineyard_

 _1770_

The young Connor entered the tavern, following behind Bobby Faulkner. They were looking for gunnery officers for Connor's ship, the _Aquila_. More specifically, the Clutterbuck brothers, David and Richard. They were found easily enough, and while Mr. Faulkner had words with them, Connor couldn't help but notice two individuals sitting at a nearby table, one of which he recognized most strongly.

The young Assassin approached and started something. "Where is Charles Lee?"

The one in the powdered wig turned a dark gaze to Connor. "I don't much care for your tone, boy."

The grizzled man in the uniform stood, and Faulkner intervened. "Hey…you don't want to be doing that, Biddle."

Biddle cracked a mean grin. "Bobby Faulkner turned to wet-nursing? Good you finally realized you're a _shite_ sailor."

Before things could escalate further, Miss Mandy the owner of the tavern stepped in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not in here, gentlemen! Better yet, not at all! Bobby, take your friends and get out!"

And then a new voice cut through it all.

"Oh, but I disagree with you there, Mandy."

From the darkness of a corner, a seventy-year-old Jake Swallow emerged, tall, built, and looking very powerful in his age…yet sad and worn, as well. Still, there was a gleam in the man's eye, and the metal of all his guns gleamed as well. Four single-shots across his large chest, and four more two-shots, two at each hip. There were no swords on him.

"I can't help but notice the kid's striking resemblance to an old friend's son, nor can I ignore the…affiliation of the men before me, and I just can't help but wonder how much grief we would spare the world if we let the kid use that tomahawk and put Biddle and Church here out of their misery."

Jake's footfalls echoed loudly in the silence of the tavern, all eyes on the old man. He stopped right next to Connor, the Clutterbuck brother and Faulkner all having bowed their heads and moved out of the way. Jake held Biddle's gaze, and the younger man looked away. Jake turned to look at Church, and the man didn't even have the stones to look back.

Then Jake smiled cordially. "Luckily for you, boys, there is a time and place for bloodshed, and this fine establishment is not it. However, your welcome has been worn out, and it's time for you to leave."

Church needed to further prompt and left. Biddle was slower in his retreat, but he vanished out the door as well.

Jake turned to Connor. "So…are you Haytham's boy?"

"How do you know-"

"Ha!" Jake clapped a hand on Connor's shoulder. "I sailed with your grandfather, son. I also hate your father, and if I ever see him I'm going to kill him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	34. The Third Life: The Boy Pirate

_The Third Life: The Boy Pirate_

 _ **Ah, it's so good to be back in the writing saddle that I can't express it in words.**_

 _ **Also…1,000 REVIEWS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!**_

 _ **This marks the second time this milestone has been reached in my career, and I thank all of you most kindly and strongly for your support through thick and thin.**_

 _ **Moving on to business, some have expressed a desire for a more humorous route in this story after so much grittiness, and I am here to say: that was the plan all along for the Third Life arc. Humor, fun, and the most gratuitous parody since**_ **Gintama** _ **.**_

 _ **I'm sure many of you might've made the connection but here's for those that missed it:**_

 _ **Jake Swallow is a pun of Jack Sparrow.**_

 _ **And much more to come with that one. To wrap up, Jake is wearing Captain Morgan's Redingote outfit, equipped with the Pistol Swords and four Spanish Officer flintlocks, two at his hips like Connor, and two more at the back of his waist like in the**_ **Black Flag** _ **trailer, with the swords being on his back like a ninja's. Jake's ship will be revealed this chapter.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Nassau_

 _September, 1715_

Edward's eyes widened at Jake's solid claim of having been to the Observatory. "Really?"

"Really, really."

The blonde pirate broke into a wide grin. "Well, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get going!"

"Yeah, no."

Edward's elation went crashing like a ship against the rocks. "Why not?"

Jake gave the man an amused look. "Why on Earth would I take any of you to the Observatory?"

The young pirate leaned against the wooden post of the tavern, arms crossed and expectant of a good answer.

"Because your lying," Thatch said bluntly. "You ain't been to this Observatory any more than I've been fucked by an ass."

"Well I don't know, Thatch. I hear you keep a donkey on your ship at all times, and I doubt it's because the thing smells good."

The future Blackbeard's face purpled. "What'd you say to me, _boy_?"

The man stepped forward to throttle Jake, but James threw a hand across Thatch's chest, holding him back with surprising strength for a young man. "Easy, man. There's no use to in blowing your top over a jab. Since you want no part of the Observatory, why don't you go make yourself useful elsewhere, hm?"

Thatch cast a lingering glare at Jake and rumbled off to occupy himself elsewhere.

James cast a withering glower at Jake.

"What?" the boy asked indignantly.

"Stop picking fights with no cause behind them, Jake."

The young pirate displayed with superior maturity by sticking his tongue out.

Edward spoke in a thin voice, tired of the shenanigans. "The Observatory, mates."

"Right," Jake said. "Why should I take any of you?"

"Think of the plunder, man," Edward said with such disbelief in his voice. It was obvious in his mind: the big score, the possibilities of said score, the future beyond. How could anyone _not_ want to go to the Observatory and claim the prizes? Just… _how_? "With all the gold we could get from the Observatory, we could all retire early and not worry about kings or crowns oppressing us or trying to hang us?"

Jake stared at Edward, before he tossed his head back. "HA!" he barked a short laugh. "Hahahaha…heh…haha…ha…yeah, I'm disinclined to acquiesce to that request."

"What?"

"It means 'no.'"

Edward became heated.

"See here, mate-!"

"I seeing, and I ain't liking. You think the Observatory is a treasure room laden with gold and valuables. I can see the greed in your eye, Kenway, and as much as I like you, I ain't bringing you with that state of mind to the Observatory."

"What exactly _is_ the Observatory?" Hornigold finally spoke. All this talk of the damn place without an explanation of what the hell it was had driven him nearly insane.

Jake gave the man a flat look. "With a name like 'Observatory,' you tell me what you think it is."

Ben exhaled. "I curse the day I taught you sarcasm."

"Indeed. You have only yourself to blame," Jake said sagely.

"Well, based on the name, I imagine you _observe_ ," Hornigold answered. "But _what_ do you observe?"

"People," Jake answered simply. "Get the right ingredients, and you can watch anyone, at any time, at any place, for however long you want. Perfect for catching your wife cheating on you, your sailors talking bad about you, and the rich people having their parties."

The three pirates were now very much enraptured.

Hornigold was the voice of reason. "How do you know all this?"

"Because I've used it before."

"When?" James demanded. "Where? Why?"

Jake returned that withering glower from minutes previous. "As much as I like you, and as much as I dislike Edward's monetary disposition, I'm more willing to tell him about it than you."

"…why?" Edward said stupidly.

Jake inspected his nails. "Oh, Sis knows why."

"Sis?" Hornigold asked.

James hissed. "I told you not to call me that."

"Yeah, but it gets under your skin, and it's fun to watch."

Now that it was established that 'Sis' was purely a malicious pet name, the conversation moved on with Jake saying:

"Besides, none of you have the ships necessary for the voyage. Hornigold, your _Benjamin_ —stupid, by the way, naming your ship after yourself—isn't big enough for the supplies, nor does it have the cannons. James, you don't even have a ship. And Edward, the _Jackdaw_ is big enough, but it's sorely lacking in guns, armor, and personnel."

"And I suppose you have a worthy ship for this epic mystery voyage, then?" Edward asked.

Jake grinned, the gleam returning. "Aye."

"Little Jake Swallow, the youngest and most unknown pirate of the West Indies has a ship," Hornigold said skeptically. "This I gotta see. Ten reals says it's a glorified canoe."

"You're on, Benji."

And so the pirates followed Jake down to the docks, where all the ships were moored. Edward's _Jackdaw_ was there, along with Hornigold's _Benjamin_ , and several schooners of other sailors, along with one really big one that belonged to the British presence. And there was a lone gunboat.

"Behold," Jake said proudly, brandishing a hand at the gunboat, "my ship."

Edward, James, Ben, and Adéwalé, Thatch, Rackham, and Vane, all of who had joined en route when they saw the procession, stared at the meager gunboat…and all of them proceeded to guffaw. Some grabbed their sides, others had to double over and brace themselves on their knees, and Rackham fell over.

And then someone called, "Ahoy, Cap'n!"

Jake grinned. "Ahoy, Mr. Biggs!"

The pirates' laughter came to an abrupt halt when the call came from the _galleon_ , which was on the _other side_ of the gunboat. Along the railing of the galleon, several other men appeared, all looking down at Jake with looks of warmth and happiness.

The young pirate grinned, almost evilly, his eyes sparking with triumphant malice. "Behold, gentlemen…my ship."

All gazes turned to the massive boat. Triple-masted, twenty visible gun ports on the portside alone, the hull painted sickly green, like seaweed, the furled sails colored the same, and the figurehead at the prow was that of a mermaid's skeleton, ominous and eerie, brandishing twin swords. The ship was huge, an easy estimate of a hundred and seventy feet, and she was clearly built to take damage, and dish it back out three-fold.

Edward was able to find his voice first. "What…how…?"

"In order: that would be a ship, and I stole her from the Spanish. The devils had the nerve to try and scrap her and use her for parts. I decided that's no fair fate for a beauty and rescued her. She's been good to me and my crew ever since."

"What's her name, lad?"

"The _Running Frenchman_."

Edward and the rest of the pirates stared at Jake, who was staring dreamily at his massive ship.

"You're serious?"

"Yes, Thatch. I thought about calling her the _Flying Dutchman_ , but that was already taken, and _Black Pearl_ doesn't fit because she ain't black, and _Interceptor_ just sounds stupid, so I decided to play with words a little bit."

There was silence for a little bit, before Thatch exclaimed, "Well, all righty then! With Kenway's _Jackdaw_ , Hornigold's _Benjamin_ , Vane's _Ranger_ , and your _Running Frenchman_ , we have the makings of our very own fleet!"

Jake tilted his head, the feather in his hat moving. "'We?' I don't recall ever being invited into this Pirate Confederacy of yours. Something about being too young and small."

"Jake Swallow, captain of the _Running Frenchman_ , we here of Nassau humbly extend invitation to you to become a member of our confederacy," Hornigold said.

The young pirate turned to his crew and shouted. "Hey, asshats! Y'all want to be part of a pirate confederacy?"

There was muffled debate from the crew, until Mr. Biggs shouted down, "Aye!"

"Excellent. We're all in agreement then." Jake grinned. "I humbly accept your most gracious offer, Sir Hornigold. You also owe me ten reals, since my ship is nowhere near the same class of a canoe."

Ben forked over the owed money, Jake pocketed it, and he caught sight of how Jack Rackham was looking at the _Running Frenchman_. He didn't say anything, but he filed away the happening for use later on. The greedy bastard would probably try to steal her somehow, not that he was smart enough to pull it off.

"Right then, now that we have my standing here squared away, what next?" Jake asked.

"We need to focus on the _Jackdaw_ ," Hornigold said. "Right now, she's the least manned, the least armored, and the least weaponized. She needs armaments if we're going to defend Nassau from the likes of Kings Philip and George, and to get such armaments, we need money."

"Aye," Jake said. "Sounds like we're going plundering."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not a full ten minutes later, the _Jackdaw_ was out in the open water, Edward at the helm, Adéwalé to his right, Hornigold to the left, and Jake between Edward and former slave. The young pirate had left his _Running Frenchman_ and his crew at Nassau, opting to join Edward in his ship.

"Considering the guns you've got, I'd say the only ships we can go after are schooners. Gunboats aren't worth the trouble, since they're barely big enough to hold their own ammunition, and brigs are questionable. You can forget about frigates and man-o'-wars, and you can put the _really_ big ships out of your mind for good."

Edward looked at Jake. " _Really_ big ships?"

Jake gained a gleam in his eye. "Mm-hm. The _HMS Prince_ , _La Dama Negra, HMS Fearless_ and her sister the _Royal Sovereign_ , and the biggest, baddest bitch of them all:" Jake paused for dramatic effect, "… _El Impoluto_."

At the name of the massive Spanish ship, the warm air of the afternoon West Indies seemingly chilled.

"How do you know of such vessels?" Hornigold asked.

The gleam in Jake's eye intensified, and his grin became ever more sinister. "That 'cause I _sank_ the _Prince_."

Everyone that heard that stopped to stare. Then Adéwalé yelled, "Rocks, captain!"

Edward yanked the wheel, sharp to port, narrowly avoiding those pesky, random juts of rocks that poked up from the seafloor. The blonde regarded the mixed young man. "You sank the _HMS Prince_?"

"The _Running Frenchman_ is a bad bitch, her crew even badder, and her captain the baddest," Jake boasted.

Edward, Hornigold, and Adéwalé shared a look, all of them not fully believing Jake's claim of having sank a ship like the _Prince_ , yet none of them finding enough solid ground to form a dispute of that claim.

Seeing that this line of questioning was going nowhere fast, Hornigold forged on with giving Edward tips and pointers for taking down a ship without sinking her, then boarding her successfully while maintaining an air of command and terror.

"Now use your spyglass and find us a ripe prize," Hornigold instructed.

Edward produced said spyglass, scanned the horizon, and found a schooner. "There, the _San Felipe_."

"Cargo?"

"Thirty barrels of rum, and fifteen crates of sugar."

Jake looked at Edward. "How, exactly, can you tell that just by looking at her with that spyglass?"

"Don't question it."

"I'm questioning it."

"Don't."

"Well, a better question: I plundered a schooner the other day that was also called _San Felipe_ , with the exact same set of cargo. What are the odds of this schooner and that schooner having the same name _and_ same cargo?"

"Slim to none," Edward said. "All hands, battle stations!"

Jake frowned at being blown off like that.

The battle with the schooner was short, even with the _Jackdaw's_ limited firepower, and when the _San Felipe_ became crippled and Edward ordered the boarding party to do their thing, Jake refused to be left out. "I call the swivel!"

He took the small cannon before anyone could say otherwise and fired each of the given shots of the standard swivel, and managed to kill enough Spaniards that they surrendered even before the crew of the _Jackdaw_ finished reeling the _San Felipe_ in.

On board the Spanish vessel, Hornigold gave a mighty and terrifying speech, only to realize that no one had a clue as to what he was saying, and the only Spaniard that had an inkling of a clue didn't have enough of it, which spurned Hornigold's frustration.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…"

Jake snorted. "Here, let me try."

He cleared his throat and spoke in perfect Spanish. _"All of you remain calm and cooperate without complaint or resistance, and you all get to live to see whatever family you have. Got it?"_

There was a chorus of " _Si!"_ from the yellow-clad sailors.

"Where did you learn Spanish?" Hornigold asked.

"From my Spanish crew. Duh."

"Oh, well my mistake, Captain Swallow."

"And don't you damn forget it, Benji."

After the schooner, Edward got bold and attacked a brig, eeking out victory after a hardy struggle. Following the brig, Hornigold instructed the captain of the _Jackdaw_ to sail to the nearby Salt Key Bank, so as to lower notoriety. To which Jake voiced opposition.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to be as notorious as possible? That way, with as fearsome a reputation as we can get, the kings we're fighting against won't be so fast to send ships after us, and the captains they do send won't be happy to have to fight us? And even with all the ships coming after us, couldn't we just take them and add them to our fleet?"

"Good enough points, lad," Hornigold said, "but no. We're still building Nassau up, and we don't have the manpower needed to operate more than a few vessels and attracting more attention than we can handle is a great way to have our dream shattered before it can begin in earnest. And we're not fighting against any kings; we're declaring ourselves free from them."

Jake smirked without humor. "The only ones here that have a clue about freedom is me and Adé….I still say we can take whatever comes our way."

"That brig put up quite a fight, Jake," Edward said.

"Yeah, and my _Running Frenchman_ would've ruined that brig with a single broadside."

"Well, we can't all have a ship as grand and powerful as yours, now can we?" Hornigold asked rhetorically.

"Sure, we could. Just have to have balls and brains to pull it off."

"…you think too simply, boy," Hornigold said with all the weight and wisdom of his years as a man on the sea.

"And you think too complexly, old man."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After bribing a crooked official, Edward caught wind of a plan by James to raid a nearby plantation, which in turn meant Jake caught wind of it as well.

"Why look!" the blonde exclaimed upon finding James and a few other pirates roasting fish on sticks on a nearby beach off Salt Key. "It's the bastard son of the late William Kidd! Still a mere boy, and yet…" Edward propped a leg on a crate. "…ten times the demon his father ever was."

Edward grabbed a fish stick and took a bite, then handed it back over.

Jake made a face at the eating of the fish. He _was_ two-thirds a son of Poseidon, after all.

James sniffed and commented about Edward's Assassin robes, only for Edward to admit that he took them off a man he killed. The conversation moved along, with Edward asking James about plantation raids and secrets, and before James could speak, Jake did.

"Let me guess: Beckford."

Edward saw the look James gave Jake. It was a look of warning and concern.

"Stay out of this one, Jake."

"Yeah, no. If it's Beckford we're talking about, I'm all in."

" _No_ , boy," James said, tighter.

"I'm missing something here, aren't I?" Edward said.

"Beckford's a slaver, as you know," Jake said, "and I was born into slavery, and my master and him were not on good terms. Bastard had some men try to kidnap me in the middle of the night. Nowadays I get back at him any way I can, and if that means raping his plantation storehouses, then that's awesome."

Edward didn't see a problem with that and looked to Kidd.

Kidd responded, "The problem is the mess he makes while there."

"The mess?" Edward raised a brow.

"Those swords and pistols aren't for show. He knows how to use them."

"You're damn right I know how to use them."

" _In excess_ ," James stressed. "You go out of your way to kill everyone on site!"

"And?" Jake argued. "They're slavers or soldiers being paid to do a job. Dying in a raid carried out by pirates is an occupational hazard, and they know the risks. Seems fair to me."

"That isn't the point, Jake," James scolded.

Edward was detecting an air maternity around the son of William, and it was confusing since said man was a man, and not a woman.

"No, the point is not drawing attention to yourself, but here's the thing," Jake put a finger to his temple and smiled. "No one will notice…if there's no one _to_ notice."

James growled in frustration. "And slaughtering everyone present is unnecessary."

"Yeah and plundering the ships of the Spanish and English for profit is unnecessary, and yet here we are."

"Okay, you two," Edward broke in, both annoyed with the bickering and confused as to why it was happening. "Jake, go help Thatch and Hornigold with whatever they need. James, quit trying to tell the lad what to do. We're trying to build a civilization because we don't want people telling us what to do."

Kidd scowled at being told off like that, while Jake just sniffed.

There was only one plantation around these parts worthy of note, anyway, and the odds of it being the one in question were wide to all. But, Jake referred to James as Sis for a reason far deeper than amusement at the 'man's' irritation. As such, Jake would honor Mary's request of not raiding the plantation with Edward…at least this time.

Besides, plantation raids were a pain in the ass, with you having to sneak all around, find the key holder, unlock the barn, get your men inside, have them start stealing crates, get them back to the ship all in one piece, all with the risk of being caught mid-heist, and then everyone had to drop what they were doing and fight for their lives.

Honestly, it was easier just to kill everyone on site.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Evening would come to the West Indies before Edward met with the rest of the pirates on Salt Lagoon. A fire burned calmly in the sand, while Thatch drank, James sat on a, Adéwalé lounged in the sand, and Jake was cuddling with a sea turtle that looked happy where it was. Edward ignored that one.

The pirate that would be known as Blackbeard raised his bottle of run. "Here's to our pirate republic, lads. We're prosperous and free, and out of reach of kings, clergy, and debt collectors."

"Near five-hundred men now pledge their allegiance to Brethren of the Coast of Nassau," James informed. "Not a bad number."

"Truth," Thatch agreed. "But we lack sturdy defenses."

"We can make turtle armor," Jake suggested. He tapped the creature's shell. "It's very sturdy stuff."

Adéwalé grinned. "I doubt there are enough sea turtles in all the world to make enough armor for a ship."

"True. And it'd be really sad to kill so many just for so little, wouldn't it, Mr. T?"

The turtle made a turtle sound of agreement.

"Mr. T?" Thatch asked, dubiously. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I'll just call you Scragglybeard from now on."

The pirate frowned. "My beard ain't scraggly."

Jake shrugged. "Give it time."

Thatch threw his bottle at the young pirate, who caught it, chirped a quick "Thanks!" took a swig, made a face, and spat it out in the sand.

"How you people drink that horse piss is beyond me."

Edward grinned. "Give it time. You'll acquire the taste."

"Blegh!"

The blond turned back to Thatch. "You were talking about defenses?"

"Aye. If the king were to attack the town, he'd trample us."

"All the more reason to find the Observatory," Edward insisted, sending a pointed look at the youngest.

"Oh, for the love of _God_ , Eddie!" Jake exclaimed. "I'm not taking you to the stupid Observatory! Besides, for what you have in mind, it's impractical."

Edward's brow furrowed. "How so?"

"Because, with the fastest ships in the world, it'd take months to get there, and then months more to do anything with whatever we got out of the Observatory."

Edward and James both correctly deciphered that to mean that the Observatory was somewhere across the oceans.

"Ah, finally! Some sense!" Thatch said. "However, Hell must be freezing over if sense is coming from the likes of you."

"Bite me, old man."

Thatch made a face and moved on. "Anyway. I'm talking _real_ defenses. A whole galleon, with all the guns shifted to one side, anchored in one of the harbors. It'd make a fine ornament."

"Well, we already have a galleon," Jake said. "But I'm not letting her get anchored. Defeats the whole purpose of what a ship is."

"Just what is a ship to you?" Adéwalé asked.

Jake smiled. " _Freedom_."

The word resonated with the former slave, and he could see the knowing look in the boy's eyes, and he felt the kinship between them. Adéwalé nodded, no understanding he was in the presence of kindred spirit: a fellow slave now free from his master.

"Stealing a whole Spanish galleon will not be easy," Adéwalé observed, looking at Thatch. "Do you have such a ship in mind?"

"I do, sir," came the sure answer.

Blackbeard's eyes gleamed. "She's a fussock, she is. Fat and _slow_ …"

Everyone boarded the _Jackdaw_ to go look for Thatch's mystery ship, _El Arca del Maestro_ , and there was idle conversation during the trip, with Jake throwing his two cents in every now and then.

Thatch and Adéwalé spoke of diving, and the boy commented, "It's a whole other world down there, my friends. Beautiful, mysterious, and very, very terrifying."

"How so?" Edward asked.

"Well," Jake smiled in recollection, "for one, you can't be wearing any clothes down there beyond some trousers. You'll get weighted down and won't be able to swim. Two, pistols are useless since the powder gets wet. Three, it's hard to swing a sword down there, with the water pushing against you, so you can't really defend yourself from anything that wants to eat you, like sharks or eels. Four, there's your breath to worry about. And then five…"

Jake became serious, face and shoulders settling, his eyes becoming far off and dark.

"…when you're down there in those depths, you get reminded of how insignificant you are. You look out over the floor, and there's nothing but an endless expanse of darkness and water. You feel small down there, powerless, helpless. You look around you and you wonder why you aspire to do anything in life, because against the vastness and majesty of the ocean, nothing you ever accomplish will come close to matching…"

After tense silence, Edward said, "Damn."

And everyone went back to looking for _El Arca del Maestro_ , trying to push Jake's solemn words to the backs of their minds.

Soon enough, the _Jackdaw_ , entered a squall, and the rain was cold and it bit against the skin. The waves tossed the ship about, and the lighting created a constant fear of the mainmast being struck ablaze. In the down poor, the search for the Spanish ship was difficult, but it was accomplished.

Jake's appreciative whistle went unheard over the storm, but not his words. "The _Running Frenchman_ could take her. I'll admit she might get some scratches, but she'd win."

"Sure, she could," Thatch said dubiously.

"Hey, if she handled something like the _Prince_ , she can handle this bitch."

"Right. The _HMS Prince_. I suppose you get some kind of proof of that claim?"

"Yeah. Ask everyone on my ship about the battle, and then go look for the _Prince_. You won't find her anywhere except the seafloor."

"Enough, you two," Edward broke in, breaking yet another argument between Jake and someone else. "Focus on the task at hand."

"You mean the one where we stay on this bitch's ass and hope we don't get spotted?"

"The very same."

"Would someone please explain to me why no one on a ship ever looks behind them to see if they're being followed by another ship? I mean, it's not exactly like we're hard to spot."

"Well," Adéwalé started, "this whole time, have you once looked behind us to see if we were being followed?"

"No…"

"And why not?"

"Because I haven't thought about it…"

"Precisely. It isn't a common thought to look _behind_. Only to the sides and forward."

"Wise words, Adé," Edward praised.

"Thank you, Captain."

The tail continued in silence as the blonde barked commands as needed, and the next thing that happened of note was Charles Vane's appearance, and subsequent retreat.

"Honestly," Jake snarked. "The man had a brig and a couple of gunboats. Did he really think he was going to bring down a man-o'-war that size?"

"Vane isn't known for his intelligence," Thatch said.

"Finally," Jake breathed. "We agree on something."

There was a scuffle with some gunboats later, and a terse moment of avoiding mortar fire, and it all left Jake lamenting how the _Jackdaw_ needed A) more guns, and B) more powerful guns. It took multiple volleys to bring down a single gunboat, and the swivels didn't immediately blow apart the enemy ships with a single shot to exposed weak spots.

But anyway.

Edward collapsed his spyglass. "She's heading for that island."

"I know the place," Thatch said. "It's a natural stronghold used by a French captain named du Casse."

Edward turned. "Julien du Casse? The Templar?"

"Name's right. Didn't know he had a title," Thatch said, eyeing Kenway.

"Everyone's got a title in some way, old man," Jake said. "The question is: just what does that title mean to others?"

Edward met the boy's eye. "I know the man from Havana. If he sees my ship he may recognize her from the treasure fleet, and he may link it back to me. I can't risk that."

"Uh, he was firing mortars at us…I think that means he saw your ship."

"All the more reason to kill him."

"Sweet. Now or later?"

"Later."

"If you say so. I think you and I could swim to the ship, climb up the sides, and kill everyone on board without a scratch on us."

Jake was on the receiving end of several disbelieving stares. "What?"

"Mate, what you just said is both stupid and impossible," Edward said.

"Puh-lease. You've done it before, Eddie, taking on outrageous numbers of men and coming out alive. Not even breathing hard, too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edward killed du Casse and claimed the whole island for himself, and Thatch took the galleon's guns, and would eventually beach the ship on Abaco Island…for some reason. It made more sense to keep the ship and give it to someone else, adding it to Nassau's fleet. But anyway.

With a whole island to call his own now, Edward didn't know what to do with himself, though he was already rambling about plans of grandeur.

"We could keep a fleet here if we liked," Kenway thought aloud. "With a bit of fixing up, it'd even be a decent place to call home." Then, as an afterthought, "Might even convince my wife to come here one day."

"You're _married_?" Jake said incredulously. "Now that I know that, my opinion of you has now lowered."

"Why?" Edward sounded a little wounded.

Jake scoffed. "You're greedy, only in anything for yourself, whatever you do is for your benefit alone, and you don't care if others are hurt because of your actions. You're the dictionary definition of a scoundrel, _and_ you're married, apparently. Mate, being all that you are with a wife back in England—I say England because you kept talking about it—is a bad combination, and makes you look leagues worse."

Jake's words visibly resonated in Edward, as the man looked to his boots, and then to James for support, only to receive crossed arms and a pointed look. Then Kenway acted on base instinct and defended himself.

"Yeah, well fuck you, lad. I live free, without restrictions or tie-downs. That's the point of being a pirate."

Jake smirked in that dangerous way of his, and edge in his eye. "You don't have a clue about freedom."

Feeling very threatened, Edward's hands strayed for his swords, making Jake's smirk widen into a hostile grin, his dark eyes sparking with malicious glee. With a raucous laugh, the boy ran off and out of site. Kenway let his arms drop, releasing a breath. He looked to James.

"There's something wrong with that one."

"Aye. And there's even more wrong with you. Now follow me. I found something that I want you to help me with."

Edward was then given a more in-depth lesson about that weird thing he could do, along with learning about the Mayan stelae scattered about the West Indies, the treasure all the stelae would unlock, and then the jungle entrance to the manor up on the rise. As fun as all that was, the most important thing was the locked gate guarding the skeleton.

"That is some damn fine gear," Edward appraised.

A loud bark of a laugh had him flinching and drawing pistols. Jake was casually leaning against the far entryway. Kenway sighed and holstered his guns.

Jake walked closer. "I'm beginning to wonder if that wife of yours is actually alive and not a corpse you dug up. First you admit that you took that outfit of yours from a man you killed, and then you verbally admire the outfit dangling on some poor fool's bones. Are you a necrophiliac?"

James snorted and looked away so his smile wouldn't be seen.

Edward looked like he had been slapped in the face with a tuna. "Um…no. I am not a necrophiliac."

"If you say so."

James said, "Try that key you took from du Casse."

Grateful for the change of course, Edward took said key, and started putting it in the locks until he found one that worked. With a click, the mechanisms sprang to life and the top row unlocked.

"That's one down," Edward said.

Jake tilted his head, but he kept his thoughts to himself so that Kenway wouldn't try any of them. It made more sense to the boy pirate that, instead of hunting down wherever the rest of the keys were, to instead pry the bars out of the wood, or get a lot of men together to rip the whole door away, or break down the walls and enter from the sides. With all these different methods, the keys just seemed wholly impractical and unnecessary. But anyway.

"It might be that these four Templars have the other keys," James said, looking over a map.

Edward and Jake joined him.

"They've been sent to kill these four targets," James pointed.

Kenway's pulse quickened. "Hang me. That's the map I sold Torres in Havana."

He missed it, but Jake saw the look that appeared on James' face, and he chortled quietly.

"He said it marked the location of Assassin encampments," Edward continued.

"Think you owe them a bit of warning, then?" Kidd said tersely. "If you have any kind of heart beating in that chest of yours."

Jake snorted and crossed his arms. "Eh, let the Templars have their way. The faster one side gets rid of the other, the sooner that bloody wars of yours will end, and maybe the world might see a bit less conflict."

James fired an extremely scathing look at Jake, and Edward raised a brow. "Come again?"

"Oh, aye," Jake said. "The Assassins and Templars have been fighting all over the world since the dawn of time. They've started wars, slaughtered millions in the name of their causes, and see themselves as completely justified in all that they do. You killed du Casse, you interacted with the Templars; even with all your care of gold, even you can admit they were some self-righteous bastards."

Edward bobbed his head in recollection. "Aye," he agreed.

Jake grinned. "Assassins ain't no different."

James stormed ten paces, checking Jake's shoulder. Then he turned, glaring murder at Jake. "I love you in mine own way, boy, which is why I not trying to cut ye where ye stand, but I swear 'pon my honor and the honor of brothers, that if you say something like that again, I'll gut you and use as chum!"

His piece said, the manor shaking under the volume, James Kidd thundered away.

Edward turned a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look to the still-grinning Jake, though the grin was more of a straight line with parted lips, and his eyes were downcast, alight with guilt.

"What was that mate?" Kenway asked.

"Oh, Sis is just passionate, is all. He'll cool down. Always does."

"Why such passion, then?"

Jake turned an annoyed look to Edward. "Buzzard's guts, man, haven't you figured it out yet? James is an Assassin."

Edward felt a cannonball settle in his stomach. "Oh."

Memories of killing the white-garbed men and women in Havana sprang to the forefront of his mind's eye, and guilt ate away at him for the murders he committed, and for selling these listed Assassins out. As Edward registered this guilt, he recalled how guilt was only ever experienced at the onset of regret for your actions, or at the admonitions of one whose opinion you highly valued.

That's when Edward realized just how much he valued James Kidd, and that's when he began questioning his sexuality, which made him shudder at the thought of being attracted to another man. His shudder got Jake's notice.

"Rabbit run over your grave?"

"Something like that. Come on. I imagine James is shipping out now, and I don't want our parting to be on terms as bad as this."

"Aw, you do have a heart."

"Shut your gob."

Jake snickered.

They both went running out the manor, and they performed a deadly leap from the branch of a tree to a conveniently placed pile of hey several dozen feet below. A quick sprint to the docks had them catching James before he shipped out on a schooner.

"Kidd, I…"

"Save your apologies, Edward," James said tersely. "They ain't worth nothing without action behind them." The son of William then changed gears. "This cove suits you well, better than that costume you're wearing. It ain't you, Edward." Then Kidd looked at Jake. "And that coat isn't you, either, Little Brother."

"Yeah, but I like so, ehm!" Jake stuck his tongue out.

"If this 'costume' isn't me, then who am I?" Edward asked, curious of James' answer.

The man crossed his arms. "Hard to tell some days. All I know is you like dangerous prizes."

"Like the Observatory," Kenway said, bringing up the temple for the hundredth time now.

Jake groaned. "Not again~…"

Edward smiled. "You two know a lot more about the world than you're letting on."

James shrugged, and then looked to Jake. "Bring him to Tulum come the first Monday of March."

Jake frowned. "And at the top of a list of very bad ideas…"

"Do it? For his sake?" James pleaded.

"…fine."

Kidd smiled and sailed away. He wouldn't be seen be either Edward or Jake for another six months.

"What's Tulum?" Edward asked.

"We'll talk more. We've got a lot of time ahead of us, mate."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we've got six months to outfit your _Jackdaw_ , get the keys to that armor, amass a fortune and a fleet, cripple British and Spanish presence in our waters, _and_ make sure the whole of the West Indies knows that the Pirate Confederacy of Nassau ain't no joke," Jake said with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **God, this has been a long time coming, and it's so much fun.**_

 _ **Such a breath of fresh air, having Percy go from a staunch Assassin to one who frowns at both sides of the coin, looking at the struggle from an outside perspective.**_

… _ **what? Did you think**_ _ **every**_ _ **life Percy was going to be a God-fearing Assassin? No, that would be boring. I like mixing it all up. Make's things interesting.**_

 _ **Next chapter will go deeper into Jake's philosophies, and include adventures between him and Edward, both on land and at sea.**_

 _ **Now, the**_ **Running Frenchman** _ **. When I say she's a galleon, I don't mean a man-o'-war with four rows of cannons on her. I mean she's exactly like the**_ **Black Pearl** _ **but painted more or less like the**_ **Flying Dutchman** _ **. And she is powerful.**_

 _ **Jake really did sink the**_ **HMS Prince** _ **.**_

 _ **Anyway, we hit over 1k last chapter, and let's head strong to 1100 with this one!**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	35. The Third Life: Outside Perspective

_Third Life: The Outside Perspective_

 _ **Yay, lots of Reviews! Nothing I can really reply to, except to tell that one poor soul who hasn't played any of the games to go read some Wikipedia articles and watch some gameplay.**_

 _ **Anyway, philosophy and more on Jake this chapter.**_

 _ **I'm beginning to notice how most of my writing for this story is shifting to conversations instead of action.**_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Sailing from Great Inagua_

 _Late September, 1715_

"Urgh, we're stuck in a loop," Jake lamented.

He was aboard the _Jackdaw_ with Edward, having left the _Running Frenchman_ at Nassau while he and Kenway sailed together.

"How so, lad?" the scoundrel captain asked.

"Well, your ship sucks, and we need to make her better. To make her better, we need reals and materials, like metal, wood, and cloth, but to raise reals we need to sell goods like rum and sugar, and to plunder bigger gains of rum and sugar, we need stronger guns and armor and bigger storage, but in order to get stronger guns and armor and bigger storage, we need reals and materials. Savvy?"

Edward blinked. "So we're stuck between plundering small ships for whatever wealthy goods they have to make bits of coin, which will take longer, but we can't attack bigger ships for bigger prizes because we don't have the armaments. We're stuck between scraping by, or grinding for muscle in order to score bigger takes."

"Exactly. Schooners won't cause too much grief for us, but their yields are terrible compared to what we need, and brigs, while worth the trouble, will cost a lot of lives and money if we're not careful."

"Your suggestions?" Edward asked.

Jake looked at him. "You're asking me what to do with _your_ ship?"

"I value your input."

"I've already given my input. We need the money from rum and sugar to build up this boat, but we can score bigger sums of the latter if we go for the material first. With better guns, we can head south for the likes of Kingston, and tackle the frigates and man-o'-wars down those parts. See, you're burdened by this thing called choice. It's when a person gets presented with options and they get stuck weighing the pros and cons for so long they stagnate and don't get nowhere."

"The burden of choice," Edward mused. "Did you come up with that yourself?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

"My master."

Edward looked at Jake, and then he looked back to the sea. "I forget you were a slave once."

Jake looked at Adéwalé. "Hey, did you forget I was a slave?"

"How could I possibly forget something like that?"

Jake nudged Edward. "See. Your first mate's a good man."

"Yes, he is." Kenway clapped Adéwalé's shoulder, and the black man nodded.

"Anyway, so what's going to be, Eddie? Rum and sugar, or metal and wood?"

"Hm, well, rum and sugar would fetch us more money, but my cargo hold can't hold more than a few dozen crates of each, so I'd have to spend days plundering small takes to raise maybe a few thousand Reals, but if I go after ships carrying raw materials, I can build up my ship to where she has enough power to handle big ships, like frigates and man-o'-wars…"

"Yes, I literally just finished outlining all of that."

"…right." Edward blinked. "Well, we're still building Nassau up, so we need powerful ships…"

And then all three pirates said at once: "Metal and wood it is."

So, for the whole of the next _month_ , the _Jackdaw_ and her crew were at sea, raiding anything with high yields of materials, while also stocking up on valuables, selling them at various ports scattered about the northern West Indies. Come the middle of October, Edward's brig was outfitted with everything two levels shy of legendary equipment, but even the most hardened of sailors could get tired of the water, which is how the _Jackdaw_ ended up in Havana's port.

"Ah, the Spain away from Spain," Jake said. He hopped over the railing of the _Jackdaw_ …and stumbled into some crates. "Dammit, solid ground."

Edward smirked and disembarked via the plank, and where he tried to hide it, his land legs were having trouble coming back as well. As a matter of fact, the whole crew was having to steady themselves on the stationary ground, the four weeks on the rolling sea having made them all adjusted to the floor moving.

Solid ground was foreign to them now, but they would adapt soon enough.

"Since we're here for a day or two just to let the crew enjoy a woman's touch and some cooked food, why don't we work on improving your virtue a little, Eddie?"

"You mean the Assassin here, Rhona Dinsmore."

"Aye."

Edward shrugged. "Sure. If it means that getting that key, I don't see a problem with it."

Jake's smile was thin. "At least you've got some direction in mind. Worst thing in the world is a man without purpose that just does things."

After giving Adéwalé orders to hold the ship, and telling the crew to be back by morning of tomorrow or they'd be left here in Havana, Edward and Jake traversed the streets of the Spanish city.

"The last time I was here, I was with a man called Stede Bonnet. He was a portly and lively fellow, inclined to unwittingly getting in trouble. He dreamed of piracy, the grand life of a freedom from restrictions."

Jake raised a brow. "You talk as if he's already dead."

"It would not surprise me," Edward confessed. "Bonnet has a good heart, but not too well a head. He's more a merchant than a pirate, and not a man to command the respect of scoundrels and villains."

"He sounds like an idiot to me," Jake said casually. "A pirate's life isn't 'bout being lively and friendly. It's 'bout being dangerous and mean and taking what we want as we want it. By your recollection, this Stede Bonnet is going to bite off more than he can chew the first chance he gets, and he's gonna get hanged."

Edward nodded, somewhat solemn. "That is what I fear, aye."

Jake came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. "So you fear for this man's life, but it doesn't sound like you're going to do anything to stop him from dying."

Edward spread his arms. "That's why we founded Nassau, mate. To leave the life of being told what to do, free to pursue what we want, as we want it. If Bonnet wants to be a pirate and sail under his own flag at the cost of his life, that's his exercising of freedom, and who are we to tell him otherwise, when men like us would kill others who would make us submit to them."

Jake exhaled, his eyes gaining that faraway look. "You don't know a damn thing about freedom, Kenway."

For the remainder of the trip to Rhona's bureau, the pirates traveled in silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The most important part of the Rhona mission was the end, when Edward and Jake worked together with the Assassin woman to kill the Templar agent in Havana, a man named Flint. In that strange place where conflict ended and those special individuals could share their final words.

"Would you two like a moment?" Edward asked callously, impatient with the proceedings.

Jake plowed his elbow into Kenway's unsuspecting gut, making the man cough and glare. Jake returned the glare. "Show some respect, man."

"No, it's too late," Rhona said sadly.

The life left Flint's eyes, and the Assassin closed them. She took the key from around his neck and tossed it to Edward.

"His charm's all used up. Let the memory of him be locked away for good."

Edward pocketed the key, and the world faded away to reveal Havana once more…the remaining Spanish soldiers in the area drawing swords and aiming muskets. Rhona fled, emotionally compromised, leaving Edward and Jake to dispatch the opposition. It was a short fight, their skills with dual swords and the soldiers' disposition of waiting for an opening that never came combining nicely to bring the fight to an end.

"Huh," Jake said, putting his swords on his back. "All that excitement and adventure for the day and it's just barely evening."

"We can decide what to do once we leave this area. It's starting to stink."

Up on a roof several meters away from the slaughter, the two pirates discussed the next step.

"We'll set sail come morning," Edward decided. "After that, I think we should head for Cayman Sound, where that other Assassin is at."

"Sounds good to me. Considering we've still got a hefty amount of hours before we ship out again, what are we going to do with our time?"

"Whores?" Edward suggested.

Jake frowned. "I am not about that life."

"Oh, come now. You can't tell me the great Jake Swallow, the most infamous and dangerous pirate of the West Indies, laden with pistols and wit, captain of the monstrous _Running Frenchman_ , is afraid of a little rout in the bed?"

"Afraid of fucking?" Jake deadpanned. "I've dived in dark waters and harpooned whales. You think a woman's body terrifies me?"

"Your hesitance indicates so…unless your aim isn't for women," Edward wiggled his brows suggestively.

Jake nailed the blonde across the jaw and sent him tumbling to the ground two stories below. Edward landed with an "oomph," but was otherwise unharmed beyond the ache in his mouth. Jake's boots crashed down beside the man's head, and Kenway offered a bloody smirk, his gums having been busted.

"Touch a nerve, did I?"

"Do not _ever~_ insinuate I'm a homosexual again, mate. I'll do more than just hit you."

"Gonna fuck me?"

"With a pistol that I will then proceed to fire. I've always wondered what happens to person when you fire a gun up their ass."

Edward grimaced, and got to his feet. "I don't know, but I doubt it's a pretty sight."

"Agreed. I understand there's a warehouse filled with goods down by the port. Up for a raiding operation?"

"Always."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The two stood on a roof overlooking the warehouse. It was small, cramped, cluttered, and teeming with Spanish.

Kenway pointed. "There. That bloke has the key. The problem is getting it from him with those soldiers around."

"Well, Edward, in situations like this I find stealth to not be in our benefit, and so choose the other option."

"Which is?"

"Gratuitous violence."

Jake leapt from the roof and charged the two brutes standard guard, and both of them through on his cutlasses. Edward blinked rapidly. "I though I was the only one that could do that…"

He leapt down and joined the fray, running into the thick of things with swords drawn.

Fights like that are tedious to write out, and even more boring to read, sometimes even confusing and difficult to follow, but most everyone here has played the games and know very well what a killstreak looks like, and if you don't, there's plenty of videos on YouTube.

Edward and Jake mowed through the Spanish battalion in less than two minutes, racking up a combined body count of exactly 27 Spaniards. When the last man went down with a slit throat and deep gashes across his front, Jake inhaled and then exhaled. "That was something."

He sheathed his swords and stepped over the bodies until he got to the officer with the key, took said key, and opened up the warehouse to reveal many crates of metal, wood, cloth, rum, and sugar, along with ammunition such as cannonballs, chain-shot, mortars, musket balls, and gunpowder, and a chest filled with a few thousand reals.

Edward whistled. "Quite the prize."

"Yeah, and now we gotta haul it all out to this schooner here, then set sail with the schooner, take it all the way to the _Jackdaw_ , unload all of it, _all_ with the possibility of being caught, which will end with another fight, which isn't so much a problem, so much as just inconvenient. Why did we do this again?"

"You think too much, mate," Edward said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was an arduous process, one that lasted into the early hours of the night, but the task was accomplished. Afterwards, with a brief "Goodnight," Jake vanished below decks and found an unoccupied hammock, and Edward retired to the captain's quarters.

Come morning, Kenway waited two hours after the first rays of the sun were visible before he set sail with what crew he had. Doing a headcount, it appeared that five sailors were missing, but as luck would have, they were the five collectively regarded as the worst onboard, being surly, and loud, and drunk, and vulgar even by a pirate's standard.

The common assumption was that all five had gotten too wasted and were still passed out in some brothel. They'd probably piss off the wrong Spaniard and end up in a gibbet. Suffice to say, those five sailors would not be missed by anyone.

…but Edward was still short five men.

The man writ the situation off as a concern for later, one that would be easily solved.

Edward was sailing around the island that was Cuba, heading down for the Cayman Islands where the Assassin Opia Apito was based, while also avoiding the fort west of Havana. During this voyage, Kenway finally got around to a conversation that he had been wanting to host for a while now.

"Tell me more about these Assassins and Templars."

Jake lounged against the railing at the helm, and a far away grin appeared on his face. "The Assassins and Templars…that's a big barrel, mate. Where do you want to start?"

"The beginning. Who are they really, and what do they want?"

"Who are they really? That's easy: they are self-righteous peoples that are all convinced that what they're doing is the right thing, and what they want, both of them, is peace on earth."

"Peace on earth doesn't sound so grievous."

"Not really, no. Their chosen paths to it is where it gets stupid. The Templars wanna use ancient weapons to make all mankind bow to them, creating a world-wide society of brainless drones that have no free will. They believe that free will, and therefore freedom, are blights upon Earth, and are the root causes behind all conceivable conflicts, so if they remove free will, they'll remove conflict and create peace."

"The Templars would make us slaves," Edward surmised.

"They would make us slaves that couldn't think to rise up and didn't mind being slaves at all."

Kenway already didn't like that, and found himself with a sour taste in his mouth at having helped such people. "And the Assassins?"

"The Assassins are the opposite of the Templars. Where the latter wants peace through subjugation, the former wants peace through freedom. The Assassins make it a point of there's to kill the corrupt and criminal, those who would actively bring harm to others. They want humanity to get along and prosper, using their freedom to better themselves and the world."

Edward tilted his head. "The way you make it out, the Templars are evil and the Assassins are heroes. Why do you hate the both of them?"

"Because, at the end of the day, they're nothing but a bunch of hypocritical murderers. They keep doing what they're doing, have been for centuries, and they're both blind to all the consequences. They bring about war and chaos, death and destruction. They go out of their ways to slaughter one another, doing whatever it takes just to make sure there's one less Assassin in the world, or one less Templar, even if that means blowing up entire towns, or sinking vessels, or burning down whole forests. There are problems in the world, that much everyone can agree with, and the Assassins and Templars are both trying to solve those problems, but they can't see how their actions are making even more problems."

"How so, mate?"

"Look at Havana. You were aiding the Templars, and the Assassins attacked. How many stray bullets hit some civilian? How much damage was caused in the fight? How many lives and livelihoods were ruined? Now take the answers to those questions and apply them to events spanning hundreds of years."

Edward paused as his eyes went to the sky in thought, his mind working out the problem. Then he whistled. "That's a lot, mate."

"Aye. That's why I don't like them. The world got along fine as can be expected before them, and it'll get along fine after them. They're not needed to keep the globe spinning, and they can't get that through their heads."

"So you disagree with them methodically, but what of philosophically? They're shared goals of world peace, is that a bad thing?"

"Hardly," Jake grinned. "They both got great ideas about things. God might have given mankind free will to do with as we pleased, but even you can see we've squandered it. Under the Templars, there'd be no more quarrels between kings that result in the deaths of sailors and soldiers. There'd be no more Africans kidnapped by rival tribes, and sold into slavery. With the Templars in full command, there'd be no more white men and black men, no more royalty and peasant, no more rich and poor, no more captains or powder monkeys. We'd all be equal and unified, completely docile and agreeable. The Templar's way is the way of practicality and logic."

"Sounds more like the way of slaves and masters to me," Adéwalé said, arms crossed and voice heavy.

"Indeed it is," Jake said, "and that's why the Assassins fight them. The boys and girls in the white hoods make it their personal mission to preserve the freedom of mankind against all oppressors, and the otherwise evil. Under them, mankind would do as they pleased, pursuing whatever course they wished, and whenever a course of malice or ill-intent was pursued, the Assassins would be there to kill them. Kind of like God, in a way. Both are like 'Kay, you can do whatever you want in life, but if you do something we don't like, we're going to punish you.'"

"Doesn't too fair to me," Edward said.

"That's because you know nothing about freedom, mate."

If eighteenth century sailing ships had breaks on them, Edward would've slammed them through the floor in frustration. "Dammit, lad! You keep saying that I know nothing about freedom, and then you never elaborate! _What_ do I not know about freedom!?"

Jake and Adéwalé caught each other's eye, the two former slaves sharing something through the ether that words couldn't explain.

"You're reckless and irresponsible, Kenway," Jake said, looking out over the sea. "You pursue goals with no end in sight, and you don't think about the consequences. You cause and death and destruction in your wake, and you shrug off all guilt, defending yourself with the notion of freedom like it makes you above reproach and judgement."

"Doesn't it, though?" Edward shot back. "If you're free, you can do all that you like and fancy, and no one and nothing can hold you down or back. No responsibilities, no restrictions, no repercussions."

"Spoken like a true pirate, Kenway."

"And what does that mean, boy?"

Jake didn't answer, but instead kept looking over the sea. "Do you know why I think Nassau will succeed against the kings?"

Edward became frustrated at the dodge of his question, but played along. "Why do you think Nassau will succeed against the kings?"

"Responsibility."

"…what?" the captain blinked.

Jake shrugged. "The people there, the civilians and the pirates, they're depending on you, Kidd, Hornigold, Vane, Thatch and me to look after them. They depend on us to bring in food and clothes, supplies and wares, and protect them from attacks. It's their expectation of us, and our responsibility to live up to that expectation. We're free men, aye, and they're free too, but freedom without responsibility isn't freedom…it's anarchy."

Edward's eyes travelled to his boots, and then he turned to the sea.

The rest of the voyage to Cayman Sound was spent in silence between the three men.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edward found the Assassin Opia, and after some bruhaha, eventually killed the Templar Lucia Marquez with Jake's help in killing the Spanish soldiers on Pinos Isle. After the fatal blow, that otherworldly place came about again, where those last words could be shared in private and in peace.

"No!" Lucia rasped. "I cannot die at the hands of the Taíno. My father saw such potential in these islands. Gold...industry...freedom... all of it squandered. You have not a clue how to use it. He could have brought you wealth…"

Opia's response was more passionate. "You think we wasted freedom by living freely!?" Her eyes narrowed and her voice became scornful. "You die a prisoner of your Templar mores."

Edward nudged Jake and gave him a pointed look, like _See? I'm not wasting my freedom by living how I please._

Jake gave him a look that was filled with sadness.

A feeling bubbled up in him, but Kenway ignored it and stepped forward. "Here's my prize." He took the key from Marquez's neck, and put in his pocket.

The private world faded, and the dreary day of the Pinos Isle returned.

Opia gave the pirates a curt nod of thanks, and ran off into the jungle.

"See, mate? She has the right idea about living freely."

Jake just sighed. "One of these days Edward, you're gonna learn. I just hope it isn't too late by then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the _Jackdaw_ had yet to acquire strong enough weapons and armor to brave the fleets of frigates and man-o'-wars that teemed in the southern waters—at least, in Jake's expert opinion—Edward decided to sail back north to Nassau, going the same route he followed to get down to the Cayman Islands to avoid entangling with any British or Spanish ships that sought to sink them just because.

However, night was upon the West Indies, and none of the crew felt like trying to sail without the light of the full moon, or the stars. Besides, the cloud cover obscured the sky, so the celestial bodies couldn't have been seen anyway.

The _Jackdaw_ remained docked at Pinos Isle for the night.

Edward retired to his cabin, and Jake found space below decks with the rest of the crew. Sleep didn't come to him, however, for Adéwalé wanted to talk more.

In a quite corner, the two conversed silently out of respect for the crew, with a small candle to provide light.

"Is the goal of the Assassins not the more just cause? The more righteous and noble?"

"No, because the goal of the Assassins is the same goal of the Templar. Only the methods differ."

"Then are the methods of the Assassins not the more just and noble?"

Jake shrugged. "Any Templar will you tell you the methods of the Assassins invite chaos and death, and they're not wrong. A good example is us."

Adéwalé remained silent, waiting for Jake to elaborate, and Jake did so.

"We've spent the past five weeks sinking every ship we came across, be it Spanish or British, just for whatever cargo they had, for our personal benefit. We killed what—a hundred, two hundred men—men with families back home, for no other reason than we wanted what they had. We, as a crew, have slaughtered droves of those otherwise considered innocent. We've ruined countless families. I mean, you stop and think about it, we never left any survivors, and since there's no one to tell of the sinking of the _HMS Intrepid,_ or the _Sultana_ , or the _Fearless_ , and no one to tell what happened to the _Santa Clara_ , _Santa Lucia_ , or _Santa Monica_ …besides us, and no one is going to sail up to a port and be like 'Hey, we sank these ships today, so make sure you get word back to England and Spain.' Those families up there, the ones we destroyed for personal gain, will go the rest of their lives never knowing just what happened to their father, brother, son, cousin, uncle, nephew, grandson, or best friend. Mate, for all intents and purposes, we're monsters. We've taken our freedom, and we're using to plunder and pillage because we can. Under the Templars, that'd never have happened in the first place, but under the Assassins, they'd do something only after the damage has been done."

"…so the Templars are a preemptive force, desiring to end all world-wide conflicts before they can even begin, and the Assassins are a reactionary force, silencing tyrants and other ilk so that good people continue their lives?"

"More or less. I guess the simplest way is to put it like this: Templars think logically and practically, and Assassins think emotionally and passionately."

Adéwalé's eyes were drawn to the table as he took all this in, and then he looked up. "If you did have to pick a side, which would it be?"

In the candlelight, Jake's full features couldn't be seen, but the African-native could feel the deranged grin, and he could see the strange, manic light appear as little beads in the boy's eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Aw, Nassau!" Jake sighed relieved. "And my baby!"

"Think you're crew is still around?" Edward asked.

"Course. They wouldn't abandon me just because I've been away for a while."

"Just how powerful is she, your _Running Frenchman_?"

"She sank the _HMS Prince_ , mate. One of the biggest bitches of the West Indies."

Edward still wasn't convinced of Jake's claim, and the boy gained a wild idea. "How about this then: After we get that Templar's key from here, you and Adéwalé can join me on _my_ ship for a change, and I'll show you firsthand just how good my crew and my ship really are."

"Sounds good to me, lad," Kenway said with arms crossed. "What do you have in mind to display your tremendous naval might?"

Jake's grin almost scared Edward.

"The sister ships that patrol the eastern-most part of this map: the _HMS Fearless_ and _Royal Sovereign_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Is Jake wrong about the Assassins and Templars?**_

 _ **Am I nailing Edward's character, or is he too much?**_

 _ **Did you guys know we hit 1k followers, making this the first story to do so?**_

 _ **Were you expecting an update this quick?**_

 _ **I certainly wasn't, but it's my birthday today, 10/24/2018, and this is my present to y'all, so happy birthday from me!**_

 _ **Also, food for thought: based on his ideology, is Shin'en a Templar?**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	36. The Third Life: The Running Frenchman

_The Third Life: The_ Running Frenchman

 _ **Sorry, was celebrating with my family.**_

 _ **Thank you everyone for your happy wishes and your Reviews, and thank you for getting us to 1k Followers. Now we're 45 away from 1k Favs, and 14 Reviews from 1.1k.**_

 _ **This chapter is about the Templar hunt in Nassau with the brothers and the Orient pirate, so Google it for more info, or just continue reading. After that, we're finally going to get to see some naval combat, and there's a little surprise this chapter.**_

 _ **Hint: Faris dealt with Greeks, Virgil dealt with Romans…as per PJO Universe canon, who else is left?**_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Nassau_

 _November 7, 1715_

"Ah, it's my baby!" Jake sighed upon seeing his _Running Frenchman_ moored at the docks.

The big bitch looked as pristine as when the young pirate had docked it.

"Think your crew is still around?" Edward asked.

"Of course. If I had to guess, they've taken over the island and are keeping her out of British and Spanish hands."

"You think so?"

"I don't see a British flag over the Old Fort no more."

Edward looked, and he saw that indeed there was no British flag. He whistled. "That's quite the crew, mate."

"Ha! Wait till you see 'em in action, Kenway."

Edward had the anchors lowered, and he basically parked the _Jackdaw_ about forty feet from the shore.

"All ashore that's going to shore!" Kenway called.

Rowboats were lowered, and the crew rowed to land.

On the beach, Jake hummed. "Funny, from this angle, looks like our ships are the same length, but mine is definitely taller and wider."

"And slower," Edward smirked.

"And more powerful. And more durable. And with a bigger cargo gold. And with more ammo. Yeah, she'll take a steaming dump all over yours, Kenway."

"Ship's only as good as her crew, mate."

Jake blinked. "…she'll still take a steaming dump all over you."

Edward huffed. "Let's just go find this Assassin and get that bloody key."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Travers brothers, Upton and Vance, being hunted by the Templar woman Jing Lang—Jake just called her Jing-a-Ling. The short story was the classic jealous brother scenario, lovestruck and easy to manipulate. After killing the man Vance hired to kill his big brother, Edward gave Upton some words of advice, and after the Assassin left, Jake scoffed.

"This is why I don't like the Assassins. They pull shit like this on each other and it's just counterproductive."

"Eh, I'm just here for the key. This secret war doesn't make a difference to me."

"And for some reason, that indifference just pisses me off even more."

The evening came, and the pirates found Upton drunk at a tavern.

"Oh, boy," Jake muttered. "Let's go get him before he eats his teeth."

"Come now, mate," Edward grinned. "Why not enjoy a quick brawl for the night?"

"You want that damn key so bad, and Upton is your only link to Vance."

Edward's grin was wiped off his face. "Dammit."

"Have at it, mate."

The fist fight was short, with Edward's skill with his knuckles being as good as that with his swords. After the fight, Edward was now edgy. "Come on, man. Let's get you somewhere safe."

"You er meh fwend," Upton slurred in his drunken state. "C'meer, ahl kill you."

Edward was hesitant to grab the Assassin, because this man had skills and knowledge of combat that escaped the pirate, and the last thing he wanted was to touch Upton, and then not be fast enough to avoid the Hidden Blade.

Jake had no such reservations.

He walked right up to Upton, and punched the man directly in the center of his chest, nailing his solar plexus. Now, hitting that area was iffy, as it could do anything from just hurt, to kill you, as striking the solar plexus was like striking the diaphragm itself, and overstimulating the nerve bundles in the area would cause the muscle to lock up, effectively suffocating a person…or it just knocked the wind out of you.

In this specific case, it was the simple and classic happening of being knocked out.

Jake hefted the Assassin, and dumped him into Edward's care. "I believe this is yours, mate. You carry it."

Edward frowned, but shouldered Upton anyway. "Carry him where, exactly?"

"You're the one that can find things just by looking for them. I believe they glow gold."

Edward blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I can do it too," Jake grinned.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Now, where are we going?"

Edward activated Eagle Vision, and saw the building that shined brilliantly. "There it is. Let's go."

Jake followed Edward, and there was this faint hissing noise that they both heard. The younger chortled too quietly for the older to hear, and Edward asked, "Do you hear something, mate? Like pouring water?"

"Yes."

"…well? Where's it coming from?"

"Upton's pissing on you," Jake said deviously.

Edward dropped the man like he had caught fire, and saw that the Assassin had indeed been urinating in his sleep, which meant he had been urinating on Edward's shoulder. The pirate hadn't felt it due to the light armor he was wearing.

He rounded on Jake. "Why the hell didn't you say anything!?"

"Didn't realize," Jake said smoothly.

"Bastard," Edward accused.

"Okay, _pot_."

"What?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase: the pot calling the kettle black?"

Edward blinked. "No."

"Well, now you have. I think Upton's done, so you can pick him up and carry him now."

"I am _not_ touching him again. Look what he did to my clothes!" Edward furiously indicated the dark stains trailing down his outfit.

Jake frowned. "Seriously? You've been wearing that thing for _weeks_ now. Fighting in it, sleeping in it, sailing in it, sweating in it, and getting other men's blood all over it, and you're really worried about some pee?"

Edward's eyes darted off to the side as he took all of that in, and compared it to a little spot of urine. His eyes darted back. "Yes."

Jake let out a loud single bark of a laugh. "I guess it is true what they say: God is great, rum is good, and people _are_ crazy!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Early, early in the morning, Upton's system cleared out the grog, and he was in fit condition. He revealed Vance's location in the swamp, north of the harbor, and Edward and Jake went there. They climbed through the bountiful trees, avoiding the smugglers and thugs on the ground, and they found Vance at the back of the swamp. Edward killed the man.

"Traitor!" Vance accused Edward, referencing their earlier collusion.

"You can't betray those you never loved," Kenway said. After he said it, his eyes became downcast as a revelation struck him. He looked back at the dying Assassin. "It takes one to know one."

Vance's life finally left him.

Another voice sounded. "I told him not to hire you! Traitor! I will not meet the same fate!"

Jing-a-Ling turned to run, which would begin a chase through the trees, and that was something Edward was not having. He popped a pistole and put a bullet in the woman's back, bringing her down before she could take two steps.

Jake raised a brow, detecting the aura around Edward.

He joined the pirate in hearing the Templar's last words.

"Imagine," Jing-a-Ling coughed. "The queen of pirates defeated for a fake map. I have been arrogant."

Edward tilted his head slightly, making his hood cast a shadow over the whole of his face.

"I stole the real one, and gave it to my husband," the Oriental woman said.

"Your husband?"

"A better man than these fools…"

With that Jing Lang died, and Edward took the key from around her neck.

Jake snorted. "This is why I don't like the Templars. They do shit like this and it's just counterproductive."

Edward hummed.

"You okay, mate? You're off."

"Aye."

"Thinking about betrayal and love, are we?"

"…aye."

"Thinking about your wife."

Edward nodded. "Aye."

"You're a free man, mate," Jake said, hints of sarcasm present. "Why don't you exercise some of that freedom and sail to England?"

"I don't know if I could face her again."

"Only one way to find out."

Edward examined the dirt.

"Ah, but we're pirates, mate! Attachment and responsibility are beneath us. We sail where we want and do as we please. We have no time for commitment or dwelling on the past. I believe you said you wanted to see the _Running Frenchman_ in action."

Edward nodded, the distraction of Jake's ship being taken as a great escape from the turmoil of his thoughts.

"Then let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edward and Adéwalé were permitted to board the _Running Frenchman_ ; the rest of the _Jackdaw's_ crew was given leave until their return from the voyage, which Edward had honestly forgotten.

"What were we going to do again?"

Jake grinned from the wheel. "Take on the _Brothers-in-Arms_ , the _HMS Fearless_ and her sister the _Royal Sovereign_."

Edward paled and Adéwalé would have paled if his skin allowed that.

"Ah, what?" Kenway asked.

"We're off to sink a couple of really big boats."

"Ah, not to question you, captain," Adéwalé said, showing respect for Jake's position, "but can this ship and her crew handle that?"

The former slave was then on the receiving end of many stares. Aside from the sound of waves, the _Running Frenchman_ was silent. Adéwalé coughed awkwardly.

"Mr. Biggs," Jake addressed his first mate.

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Please educate our guests as to just what the hell they're sailing on."

"Aye, Cap'n! Follow me, gents!"

Mr. Biggs was an average man, with white sideburns that led down to a chinstrap beard. The hair on his head was black and tied back into a small ponytail. His face was weathered, worn, and tan, all marks of an experienced seaman. He was broad-shouldered and tall enough to command respect, wearing an outfit designed for sailing.

"Here in the aft we have two swivel-mounted six-pounders on both the port and starboard sides, along with four more near the prow. The _Running Frenchman_ has two gun decks, the main deck you're walking on, and the lower deck right beneath. On the main deck we have twelve 36-pound carronades on each side, and below are twenty 68-pound hull busting mammas on each side."

Edward and Adéwalé's eyes threatened to fall from their heads at learning that the _Running Frenchman_ had sixty-four guns, not counting the eight swivels. Beyond that, the guns this ship had were _huge_ , especially when compared to the _Jackdaw's_ main armament of 24-pounders.

"She can fire regular round shot, chain shot, heated shot, heavy shot, grape shot, double shot, and langrage," Mr. Biggs continued. "Her hull is heavy oak, and on the inside, she's reinforced with iron plates, perfect for taking all kinds of a beating. Up here we have our mortars."

Edward and Adéwalé were once again stunned to the soles of their boots at seeing the _six_ gold-plated mortar units near the prow. The _Jackdaw_ only had room for two, and they certainly weren't as glorious as these.

"And below our feet are three long nine chase cannons. In the cargo hold we can haul three thousand standard crates of rum and sugar, and three thousand standard crates of metal, wood, and cloth, and the berthing area can house two hundred sailors, though we only need a fourth as many to keep her floating nicely. Any questions?"

"So," Edward started, "this ship has sixty-four broadside guns, eight swivel guns, six mortar cannons, six long nines, half a dozen kinds of shot, and internal iron plating?"

"Oh, that reminds me: we also have an iron-plated ram under the bowsprit."

"And you have a ram," Kenway said. "Along with a cargo hold several thousand strong."

"Aye," Mr. Biggs said proudly.

"This…this isn't…" Edward couldn't form the words. "This isn't a ship! This is a floating garrison!"

"Aye!" Mr. Biggs declared proudly.

Edward turned back to the con, a twitching eye at the sight of the boy pirate standing there with a large grin on his face. After making his way back to the wheel, the blonde was on the receiving end of a little jingle.

"Mine's bigger than yours~, mine's bigger than yours~."

"Well, at least I know how to _use_ mine," Edward returned.

"Yeah, poorly. You can barely handle the little ones, but I can handle the bigger, more experienced ones."

"Gentlemen," Adéwalé broke in before more could be said. "Perhaps we should focus on sailing, instead of bickering."

"See, Edward? He's got the right idea."

"Fuck off."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Captain!" a voice called form the crow's nest. "Ships in the distance! One with a white hull, and the other black!"

"Aye, there they are!" Jake's eyes gleamed maliciously. "All hands to battle stations! Load cannons with heavy shot! Arm the long nines! Prepare the mortars! Move, move!"

Someone rang the bell, and the _Running Frenchman_ erupted with action as the crew set about their orders and duties. Edward and Adéwalé were both impressed with the displayed efficiency, but they were both grabbing the railing with white-knuckled grips.

Adéwalé saw the Mr. Biggs was holding a pair of objects. In the man's left hand was a thin staff about three feet long, and in the right was a curved object carved with symbols. "What are those, man?"

"Oh, these? This is my staff," Mr. Biggs raised the left object, "and my wand," he raised the right object. "I use them to cast magic."

"Magic?" Adéwalé asked incredulously.

He received a wink. "Watch and learn, my friend."

On the horizon two behemoths of a pair of ships came barreling down on the _Running Frenchman_. The white ship, the _HMS Royal Sovereign_ , and her sister, the _HMS Fearless_ , colored black. They were big, each a hundred and eighty feet long and fifty feet wide, with their masts towering above the waves, each adorned with a massive plume of sails.

"Blimey, Jake! You'd better have a good plan in mind for this shite!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, yellow-belly!" Jake retorted. "Mortars! Half and half!"

Three fired a full shelling on the _Royal Sovereign_ , and the other three a full shelling on the _Fearless_ to open up the game. The artillery sailed through the air and broke apart above their targets, peppering both with hot shrapnel. The men-o'-war were hardly phased by the attack, and they came in hard and fast.

"Captain! A boxing maneuver!" Mr. Biggs observed.

"Aye! They want to be on either side of us, then let them! All guns prepare to fire! Mr. Biggs, do the thing on your best judgement!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Edward and Adéwalé both shared a pensive look at Jake's strategy, and they were both left in the dark about what 'the thing' was.

"Swivels! Aim for the masts!"

The British ships lined up on either side of the _Running Frenchman_ , and she went speeding right between them.

So many things happened at once that Edward couldn't fully process all of it. He heard the tremendous den of hundreds of cannons going off. He smelled the acrid mark of gunpowder in the air. He heard some phrase close by, but he couldn't fully make it out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a massive hallucination taking the form of a wall of transparent light, the enemy cannonballs seemingly shattering against it.

Then he blinked, and the _Running Frenchman_ was zooming forward.

"Reload! Reload!" Jake was shouting.

Looking behind them, Adéwalé and Edward saw that the _Brothers-in-Arms_ had been deeply scared. Their main masts had been chopped at the base, and had fallen to the water. Their broadsides were full of holes and dents. Fires littered the decks. The two pirates shared a flabbergasted look.

"Ready to bark, sir!" a gunner called.

Jack wheeled the _Running Frenchman_ to his port side, lining up the _Royal Sovereign_. "Fire!"

Edward and Adéwalé were treated to another round of deafening cadence as thirty-two guns went off at once, the twenty 68-pound monsters and the twelve 36-pounders. The massive ordinance tore into the white ship's hull, shredding wood like it was paper.

Jake kept turning his ship, aiming his bowsprit at an angle. "Ramming speed!"

The _Running Frenchman_ sped up exponentially, and the most terrifying thing happened: Jake's galleon **ripped** the _Royal Sovereign_ 's ass apart. The whole aft section of the ship was shattered by the _Running Frenchman's_ iron ram, and like a well-trained linebacker, the ship kept muscling through, making the British man-o'-war spin in the water. With the entire stern battered clean off, the _Royal Sovereign's_ guts were exposed, and water flooded in.

"Mortars!" Jake roared, and the _Fearless_ was peppered by the airborne projectiles.

Without either of their main masts, the legendary ships were much slower, but not stationary. The _Fearless_ had sailed a fair distance away while Jake had crippled the _Royal Sovereign_ , and it worked negatively in the Brit's favor. The distance created room for another broadside, and Jake once again displayed the awesome might of his ship's many guns, this time ruining the _Fearless'_ port side.

"Sir! Powder barrels exposed!"

Indeed, the cannonballs had peeled away enough of the British ship's magazine storage to reveal her collection of ammunition.

"Mr. Biggs!" Jake called. "Do your thing."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

The man pointed his staff and uttered two syllables:

" _Ha-di_."

The _Fearless_ exploded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edward and Adéwalé were too shocked to question anything after that display. They didn't even say anything when Jake paddled the _Running Frenchman_ back to the _Royal Sovereign_ and picked up as many survivors that wanted to be saved from the wreckage of their sinking ship.

The pirates of the _Jackdaw_ didn't even say anything when Jake started issuing a monologue to the rescued sailors.

"Welcome to the _Running Frenchman_. I am the captain, Jake Swallow, and this is my crew. We are terribly sorry for blowing up your boats and killing your comrades, but they are in a better place now…granted they accepted Jesus and repented for their sins…or believed in Ra…or in Zeus—they might be in Elysium…I don't know. Religion is weird. As for all of you, in return for your lives I demand a service in return-"

"You pirate bastard!" some brave individual yelled. "You killed my brother!"

Jake zoomed in real close to this British sailor's nose. "Did he believe in Jaysus?"

"W-What?"

"Did he. Believe in. Jaysus?"

"W-Well y-yes…"

Jake stood erect. "Well then, I don't see why you're complaining. Your brother is now in Heaven, free of all the trouble and turmoil and woes of our mortal world. He no longer has to worry about pirates, taxes, diseases, marriage, or scurvy. If I were you mate, I'd be celebrating my brother's passing on to that beautiful place of golden streets, while despairing over the fact that I'm stuck here on a pirate ship."

The sailor was at a loss for words.

"Then again," Jake pulled a pistol, "if you miss him that much, I can reunite you."

He said it so casually, like discussing a time and date for lunch.

"While we're on the subject—hey! Anyone wanna die and go to Heaven?" Jake asked loudly enough to be heard up and down the deck. "The alternative is that you do something for me."

There were a bunch of nodded heads and muttered consents to death, and Jake gave the nod. Dozens of fresh corpses were tossed overboard to the sharks, and the remaining people didn't what to feel about themselves.

"Before we go any further, is the captain somewhere around here, or did he die?" Jake asked.

"A cannonball took his head off," a sailor answered.

"Really? Damn. Alright, listen up: you all chose life which means you owe me, and I'm collecting immediately. We will be sailing back to Nassau in about ten minutes, after I finish telling all of you what's up, and getting you all in the brig—don't worry, I keep it clean. So, when we get back, I'm going to let you all go free to find your fellow British, and tell them about this event, how Jake Swallow and his illustrious crew of the _Running Frenchman_ , took down the _Brother-in-Arms_ all by themselves…" Jake tilted his head. "You know, since all ships are referred to as 'she' and 'her,' shouldn't they be called the _Sisters-in-Arms_?"

"Waitwaitwait, hold up," a British sailor said. "You're going to let us all live, take us back to an inhabited island—a well-known one—and let us go so we can tell others about you?"

"Aye."

The sailor's lids fluttered in incomprehension. "You are without a doubt the _worst_ pirate I've never heard of!"

"Ah, but now you _have_ heard of me," Jake said with a grin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sailing back to Nassau, Edward and Adéwalé were still speechless.

"Hey, you two okay?" Jake snapped his fingers in front of their faces. "Hello~?"

With no response still from either pirate, the boy shrugged and punched Edward across the jaw, and held Adéwalé's nose shut until he flinched and started coughing.

"What just happened?" Edward said, popping to his feet.

"We sank the _Fearless_ and the _Royal Sovereign_ ," Jake answered.

"Yes, I remember that…I think. What I meant was what happened? I blanked out and suddenly I'm on the deck and my cheek hurts."

"Yes, we rammed into the _Fearless_ and you were knocked down by the impact. I was beginning to worry you had hit your head and were dead.

"Ah…"

"Hey, that reminds me…" Jake let a little whistle, and something came fluttering down from above.

It was a little bird that lit on Jake's outstretched finger. He began petting it and cooing at it.

"Is that a sparrow?" Edward asked.

"Yes, it is," Jake answered fondly.

"…why?"

"Why not?"

"You could've had a parrot that could talk."

"I don't want a talking parrot. I wanted a sparrow."

Realizing this was going nowhere, Edward switched gears. "What's the little guy's name?"

"Larry."

"I was expecting 'Jack,'" Adéwalé muttered.

Jake grinned, his eye gleaming. "A lot of people were expecting for there to be a sparrow named Jack."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How do you do it, mate?" Edward asked.

"If you're expecting me to know what 'it' is, I'll have to disappoint you, for I cannot read minds," Jake answered, Larry the Sparrow on his shoulder.

"Keep this ship together. You've got so many different walks of life here, and you're young. How do you keep so much difference in line without fights breaking out?"

"Well, for one, they respect me, and I them. Two, fights break out all the time here. It's good for building relationships, though. Nothing brings a crew together like a good brawl. However," Jake made a face, "there have been times when deaths have occurred."

"What to you do when that happens?"

"…well, Edward, I am a proponent of equality, so if one man dies, that's one more life in the world, and that needs to be fixed."

Edward blinked, trying to work out just what that meant. "So…if one or more of your crew kills one or more of your crew…you kill the killers?"

"Aye."

"Wouldn't that create animosity among the crew though, killing their mates like that?"

"Oh, my crew is welcome to jump ship any time they like, and they're welcome to duel me to the death any time they want for the right to the captaincy."

Edward blinked again. "You, a kid, captain a crew of dozens of able-bodied adults, and none of them have tried to usurp you?"

"Eh, you've seen me fight, Kenway. How many people are there in the world that can fight like that?"

"Fair enough point, lad."

"However, fights are rare around here."

"Why is that?" Adéwalé asked.

Jake smiled, almost serenely. "Because everyone here knows each other."

Edward and Adéwalé stared at him.

"Look around," Jake swept an arm about his ship. "Englishmen, Spaniards, Africans, men, women, Christians, Catholics, others. It's a melting pot of everything; you'd think a concoction like that would explode, and it does…when it's too big. The reason why the _Running Frenchman_ sails along just fine is because she's small. Everyone here knows everyone by name and heart.

"That's not British scum, that's William. That's not a Spanish bastard, that's Juan. That's not a nigger, that's Padiwa. That's not a heretic, that's David and Joshua. That's not a woman, that's Jane. See, the boundaries of big societies, where there exists British and Spanish animosity towards the other, where the men frown on the women, where the Catholics and the Protestants spar on their beliefs…it doesn't exist here. See, in big societies, you can generalize and stereotype. You can group and call them all _them_ and _they_ , and that's where the problem with the world comes in.

"They want to say diversity is bad for the world…sure. Just look around you and bear witness to how difference on the global scale is breeding hate and violence, with people killing people for no other reason than because they're not the same. A perfect example is there."

Jake pointed and Edward and Adéwalé followed. In the distance, they saw a British and Spanish frigate open fire on the other.

"Not a single person on either boat knows a soul on the other, and yet, because of the flag and the uniform, they're both willing to slaughter the other in the name of a king that doesn't even know their names or the name of their ship, a king that's on the other side of the world and doesn't give a rat's ass if they live or die in a conflict hundreds of miles away. One of those ships is going to sink to the bottom of the sea, and the only ones that'll know are us and the victor. All because the flags are different.

"Britain, Spain, Portugal, the rest of Europe and Africa, they're too big. This New World, with all the tribes and all the people coming over, it's too big. Wars are going to break out like a plague, and lots of people are going to die because of white skin and red skin. None of them in those big places knows anyone from any of the other big places, so they can say what they will of the other without regret or remorse, and kill them just the same. They don't form attachments.

"But here, on the _Running Frenchman_ , where it's small and everyone's different, they all know each other. They know faces and stories, quirks and oddities, likes and dislikes." Jake grinned, wistful and hopeful.

"That's why Nassau's going to make it. It's a small place, and it won't get much bigger than a few thousand, probably less. It'll be a melting pot, but it'll be a balanced melting pot that ain't too big. There's a problem when the melting pot gets too big. Too many clashing ideals and philosophies, it all blows up. That's why you keep it small and balanced. Like here: a little bit of British, a little bit of Spanish, a little bit of man, a little bit of woman, a little Protestant and a little Catholic—and doesn't have to be those things, it can be anything, any kind of mix, as long as it's small, and there's not too much of any of the different ingredients."

"…where did you learn of such things, mate?" Edward asked quietly, stunned through his boots and Jake's intellect.

Jake shrugged. "My master started me off good. He taught me history and writing, some math, a lot out of the Bible, and he taught me about the world. From there, just my own observations and things I pick up from those I interact with."

"Little Jake Swallow," Edward said. "Half as anyone's age and already three times as smart."

Jake cracked a grin. "Praise the Lord."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **I love philosophy. It's taking over my writing, as you can see.**_

 _ **And you can see it in our world, too, Jake's melting pot theory, which is, in turn, my melting pot theory. Too many different ingredient on too grand a scale, and BOOM, but you get a little scale, and a little bit of the ingredients, and it can mix together well. Like the Puritans and Squanto's people. Started off small and well, and then too many different people got involved and land battles broke out all over the Colonies.**_

 _ **Anyway, beyond moving beyond the deep stuff, the**_ **Running Frenchman** _ **ladies and gentlemen! Sixty-four humungous broadside guns, six long nine chase cannons, six mortars, and internal iron plating, capable of bringing down two legendary ships with barely any effort. And while I don't know much about 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **Century sialing ships, I am strongly confident that many guns and their impressive weights would sink any ship beyond our modern-day vessels, but suspension of disbelief is rife in the**_ **AC** _ **world.**_

 _ **There's also a special someone as the First Mate.**_

 _ **Yes, Mr. Biggs, whose name's a play on**_ **PotC's** _ **Mr. Gibbs, is an Egyptian magician. It fits the steady theme in which Percy's past lives all involve some branch of the mythologies, like how Faris met the Greeks, Vergil was trained by Lupa, the Roman, and how Cheyenne was engaged with Zo**_ _ **ё**_ _ **, a Hunter. Jake has an Egyptian for a crewmate. That leaves the Amazons and the einherjar with two lives that are based in Industrial Revolution London, and WWI.**_

 _ **I also got**_ **Odyssey** _ **, and while thus far a fun game, it still feels like a "you can copy my homework, but change it up so it's not obvious" of**_ **Origins** _ **…with**_ **Black Flag** _ **thrown in for naval gameplay. Despite these rehashings, I say buy it and enjoy a fun experience.**_

 _ **As for how I'm going to fit**_ **Origins** _ **and**_ **Odyssey** _ **into my canon is yet unknown, but I have a rising Time Titan to play around with so…time travel…maybe…**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	37. The Third Life: The Kidd Called Sis

_The Third Life: The Kidd Called Sis_

 _ **I have been playing**_ **Odyssey** _ **, so you can't be mad at me.**_

 _ **Before we begin, things need to be addressed:**_

 _ **Templar in a past life…duh. That was going to happen from the start. However, it's not going to do anything to Percy. He's wise beyond his years with decades of Assassin experience, all from Faris, Vergil, Jake, and the rest. Long ago did he analyze the Templar's goal and motive, so actually being a Templar will hardly be a shock.**_

 _ **Time travel involving**_ **Odyssey** _ **and**_ **Origins** _ **…well, as it so happens, I made a grand mistake with this arc. See, the first two were almost complete divergents from canon, especially with Faris as he went all the way to Greece. Vergil followed closer, but I brought him in almost at the middle of**_ **Brotherhood** _ **, skipping over**_ **ACII** _ **and**_ **Revelations** _ **completely. As such, I was able to finish those arcs in five chapters, setting a precedent that will clearly be broken by the Third Life, and that's because I introduced Jake at the very beginning of**_ **ACIV,** _ **putting the whole of the game before me, and I already established Jake is in**_ **ACIII** _ **.**_

 _ **That's a lot of ground to cover, and I honestly felt overwhelmed, until I remembered: this is the story of Jake Swallow. Not the story of Jake Swallow**_ _ **and**_ _ **Edward Kenway. Because of that, I now free myself from the constraints of**_ **ACIV** _ **and move on to establish my own canon.**_

 _ **Involving**_ **Odyssey** _ **.**_

 _ **I think you're all going to love how I pull it off.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Nassau_

 _November 7, 1715_

The _Running Frenchman_ came in for a smooth docking at the Nassau port, and Edward and Adewale didn't know how to feel about themselves in the wake of witnessing the awesome power of Jake's galleon, taking on two legendary man-o'-wars, a couple of Great Britain's finest ships, with nary a scratch.

The two pirates expected the gangplank to be lowered and for everyone to disembark immediately, but instead the crew gathered about the deck in front of the helm. In front of Jake.

The boy pirate drew a sword from his back, and the rest of the crew drew their own swords.

"For freedom!" Jake declared.

"FREEDOM~!" the crew yelled.

"For glory!"

"GLORY~!" the crew shouted.

"In the name of honor!"

"HONOR~!" the crew thundered.

And they were heard across all of Nassau.

"Remember these things, mates," Jake said, "for they are the reasons why we sail….Aight, you're dismissed. Have fun until I call."

The _Jackdaw_ pirates blinked when the crew just filed overboard into the clear waters below and swam to shore.

"Your crew can swim?" Edward asked.

"Yep. Yours can't?"

"No…"

For those confused about how sailors in the 18th century can't swim, it's because if you fall overboard, there's virtually no way for the ship to stop or turn around to come get you, so you'd be stranded in the middle of the sea with no where to go, possibly at the mercy of hungry sharks. Therefore, your best bet would be to not even worry about swimming anywhere, and just drown to get the inevitable over with fast as possible.

Look it up.

"Well," Jake shrugged. "Sucks to be them."

"What happens now?" Edward asked.

Jake looked to the sky. "That is an excellent question, really. It's still, what…four months…no, five…no, it is four months until March, so we've still got four months of time on our hands until we need to meet up with James on Tulum. The _Jackdaw_ still isn't as strong as she could be, and there's still that one key left in Kingston, and plenty of buried treasure all over the West Indies…"

"And the Observatory," Edward interjected.

Jake deadpanned. "Do you have a crystal skull?"

"A what?"

"A skull. Made of crystal. A crystal skull. Do you have one?"

"Of course I don't have a fucking skull made of crystal, mate!" Edward outraged, feeling insulted by the asking of whether his skull was made of crystal.

"You misunderstand. When I ask 'do you have a crystal skull,' I'm not referring to what's in your head. I'm asking if in your wide possession of trinkets and trash, is there a skull somewhere in there made of crystal?"

"Oh. Well, bloody hell I should hope not. If I've got a crystal skull lying around somewhere and I don't know about it, I'd be a shite sailor for sure."

"Agreed. Well, without a crystal skull, you can't use the Observatory."

"…why the bloody hell not?" Edward asked, not followed due to complete and total ignorance over the Observatory.

"The Observatory works by using a drop of blood in a special little cube placed inside a crystal skull, which is then placed in the Observatory's mechanism. From there, you can watch what the person whose blood belongs to is doing. I told you this already. For your fantasies of gold, the Observatory ain't it, chief."

Edward's mouth set into a thin line. "That's truly what the Observatory does? Just watches people?"

" _Observes_ people," Jake grinned at his pun.

"And you need a drop of blood from the person you want to observe, along with a crystal skull."

"Yep. Rather inconvenient, isn't it? Having to sail all the way to some place to get some blood from a guy, then once you get there you have to actually get some blood, and then you have to sail all the way back to where the Observatory is. Kind of a hassle just to make a few reals."

Edward felt his world crumble. "Dammit it all to Hell, mate."

"Eh, there are easier ways to get rich."

Kenway gave Jake a lasting, unreadable look, before jumping ship and swimming to the beach, most likely heading for a tavern.

That left Jake and Adewale.

"Will the captain be alright?"

"Oh, sure," Jake answered. "Edward's just going through dream withdrawal, is all."

"Dream withdrawal?"

"Yeah. It's when a person has this grand dream, this great vision of something, and then they finally realize that it's an impossible thing, or it's not as great as they thought it would be, so they get really disappointed and dejected, because their whole purpose was just destroyed and they don't know what to do with themselves."

"What do we do, then?"

"Let Edward have his moment of thought and self-pity. If he's still like this in three days, then I'm kicking his ass into gear. He's still got a wife to provide for, you know."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a day of drinking and a night of a drunkenness and a morning of being hungover, Edward, now wholly disillusioned with the Observatory, mentally fortified himself in the wake of a new path: plunder and prizes.

And to do that, he needed as powerful a ship as he could get, and to get as powerful a ship as he could get, he needed funds and resources.

Hence, another several-month voyage at sea sinking every Tom, Dick, and Harry he came across, dealing with pirate hunters as necessary, and bribing officials when the heat became too much. Kenway set aside personal goals like the Templar key, and instead put his sole focus into becoming the most powerful and deadly pirate of the West Indies, following through with Jake's idea of infamy.

The blonde pirate took down forts, man-o'-wars, treasure ships, and plundered plantations, followed maps found on cadavers, and grinded the _Jackdaw_ to be the most fearsome ship that it could be.

In the remaining months to the fateful March day that James had set, Edward was a man possessed, and Jake was right there with him in the _Running Frenchman_. Together, the two sank _La Dama Negra_ , and Edward wanted _El Impoluto_ for himself…and he got it.

After much rum and battle, March came, and with the coming of March came time for Jake to show Edward where Tulum was, and its importance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Yucatan Peninsula_

 _March 1716_

"Welcome, Edward, to the base of the Assassins," Jake declared from a cliff high above the beach.

Down below, Edward could see several people in white outfits.

"I imagine we're not welcome here, then?" Edward asked.

"Well, you're probably not, since all that bruhaha in Havana. You did kill a lot of Assassins that day, and I'm sure they all hate you for it, despite you having no idea what you were into at the time. Me, on the other hand, am not exactly _not_ welcome, since everyone here knows Sis and I are cool, but they still don't like me because I don't like how they operate."

"Uh-huh. What do we do then?"

Jake shrugged. "We could fight our way through to the heart of the base, where Sis is at, slaughtering droves of Assassins, or we could sneak our way through the jungle, going from bush to bush, hoping not to get caught, which would take a while, and it's hot, and I want to see my Sis, or we could go with Option C…"

"Option C?" Edward asked.

Jake grinned, gaining that gleam in his eye. He dove off the cliff without a word, landing in a pile of palm leaves, Edward following quickly. Still with his gleaming eye, Jake strode across the beach without a care, Edward behind, growing anxious because they were starting to attract attention.

"Ahoy!" Jake called to a couple of Assassins.

They turned to look, and their eyes widened under their hoods at seeing Edward. The pirate swallowed and reached for his swords, only for Jake to strike him in the nuts.

Kenway wheezed and dropped to his knees, eyes popping from their sockets.

Jake grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him up, pressing a pistol to the stomach. "I've come bringing gifts to Ah Tabai. Kindly escort me through to his and Kidd's location, if you don't mind."

"And if we don't, and just kill the both of you now?" an Assassin asked sharply.

Jake's smile became evil. "Then I'll give a signal, and my ship will rain fire and brimstone on this whole peninsula. So, if you wanna meet your gods, pop them pistols, boy, elsewise, stop wasting my time and let's get going."

The Assassins didn't look at all happy at being strong-armed like they were, but the Creed mandated never compromising the Brotherhood, and attacking the boy pirate would bring terrible compromisation. So, they both swallowed their ire, and led the pirates through the jungle, attracting the attention of the other Assassins on patrol.

By the time they reached the ruins where James was waiting, there was an entire procession.

"Sis~!" Jake crowed.

James palmed his face. "When I asked you to bring Edward here, I didn't mean bring the whole Brotherhood with you."

"I didn't bring them. They tagged along because they're nosy."

Edward felt like a third wheel right now, and he was still angry at being hit in the dick. But then he was involved when a voice from behind said, "Captain Kenway."

Edward turned to see a man in the same basic get up as the rest of the Assassins, only in brown, and he had face paint.

"Aye?"

"I take it you are the gift Jake Swallow-"

"Uh, there should be a _captain_ somewhere in there, thank you," Jake said tersely.

"Right," Ah Tabai said, "my mistake. I take it you are the gift Jake Swallow Captain was referring to?"

Jake growled, making James snicker and Edward crack a grin despite the situation.

"Well, I don't think _gift_ is the right word, but Jake brought me, and I am here. Why, exactly, I don't know, since Kidd here has yet to explain," said Kenway.

"Where is Duncan Walpole?" Ah Tabai asked.

Edward raised a brow at the abrupt change in things. "Dead, after he tried to kill me."

"We are not sorry to see him go, but it was _you_ who carried out his final betrayal." The Mentor's eyes alit with fury, his voice reflecting his emotions. "Why!?"

Edward replied after a pause, because he knew the truthful answer would not get an ideal reaction. "Money was my goal, mate."

True to his prediction, the Mentor lost it. " _Should I find comfort in that!? You murdered our brothers and sisters in Havana!"_

The jungle echoed with Ah Tabai's anger. The Assassin stepped forward into Edward's face, and Jake's sword was between them. The drawing of his weapon was met with the Assassins drawing their own weapons, but Jake ignored them and instead forcefully pushed his sword back, pushing Ah Tabai away from Edward.

"Uhn, uhn, uhn," Jake said warningly. "You know better, Ah Tabai. Edward didn't know shit of either Assassin or Templar at the time. As far as he was concerned, he was doing a job to get paid, and then he was attacked by unknowns trying to kill him. What you do?"

"…that does not excuse his actions," Ah Tabai said.

"Nor does it condemn him. Besides, Eddy's been around the West Indies, helping out the bureaus and completing contracts here and there. I'd say he's made up for it in at least hearts."

In cards, as spades were the best, hearts were the worst.

Ah Tabai's ire lessened, but his gaze still smoldered at Kenway, who just stood there awkwardly as he was defended by a fifteen-year-old boy.

James finally spoke up. "He has the _Sense_ , Mentor."

Ah Tabai made a grunting sound. "I must be certain. Captain Kenway, when you were with the Templars, did you see the man they called the Sage?"

"Aye."

"If you saw his face, could you recognize him?"

"…aye?" Edward was confused.

Ah Tabai gave James a nod, and then went away. Before he left completely, he looked at Jake. "The offer to join still stands."

"And my refusal still stands."

The Mentor and the Assassins dispersed, leaving James, Jake, and Edward.

"Come on you two," Kidd said, and he led them into a revealed corridor behind the wall of a set of ruins.

As they traversed the cave system, they made idle conversation.

"I understand you two have been busy these past six months, sinking ships left and right, raiding plantations, even going so far as to sink them big ships at the corners of the map, while also making sure you're both as notorious as possible," James said.

He didn't necessarily sound happy, either.

"Yeah, it's kept the British and the Spaniards away from Nassau," Jake retorted. "Too scared to come get us because they know we'll blow 'em to kingdom come."

"You're attracting too much attention, Jake!" James stressed. "Soon enough there'll be so many ships on your tail, you won't be able to win."

"Please, I've got the most powerful ship in the West Indies. Even _El Impoluto_ isn't stupid enough to come after me. Face it, Sis: I've got the power and ability to handle myself. I don't need you harping over me."

"I know you're a big boy now, Jake," James bit out, frustrated, "but even big boys can be overwhelmed."

"Yeah, I remember this one time I saw a man-o'-war get sunk by like, a hundred gunboats."

"Really?" Edward asked with a brow raised.

"No."

James' nostrils flared. "Then think about it like this: you might be able to handle everything, your ship and your crew might be able to handle everything, but what of the rest of us? Me, Edward, Thatch, Hornigold, the citizens of Nassau? What happens when they figure out that if they can't hurt you, they'll hurt the ones close to you?"

"Then the ones close to me need to be on their toes, guns loaded, and swords sharpened. You make a great point, Sis, but that point is all on you. You captain a schooner for God's sake, and so does Hornigold, and I think Thatch is growing out his beard and was able to snag a man-o'-war, and Edward's got his _Jackdaw_ jacked up with weapons and armor, and as for the citizens of Nassau, their safety depends on us-"

"All the more reason for you to _not_ be making a grand name for yourself!"

"-their safety depends on us being powerful enough to protect them, something we can't do in canoes," Jake said flatly. "So how about instead of pinning everything on me and my actions, you take some responsibility and build some muscle of your own."

James growled. "Gods above, boy! Why are you so stubborn!?"

Jake shrugged. "Just my nature, I guess."

Yes, his two-thirds of a soul nature.

James growled again.

"Hey, now," Edward broke in before Kidd's ire could boil over and a fight broke out, "how about we focus on solving this puzzle, hm?"

Jake was just fine, brushing his sister's worries off him like dust, but Mary was a completely different story, her frustrations at being unable to make Jake see the possible repercussions of his actions making her angry. Edward's distraction was a welcome one, for it would give her time to cool down and think of another approach before she lost it and tried to pop her adopted little brother's head off.

"Looks pretty simple to me," Jake observed. "Put the blue rock on the blue space, the green with the green, and the red with the red, and you raise and lower them using the counter weight that's the rock there on the side. Looks more tedious than challenging."

James and Edward shared an impressed look, and they got to work on solving the puzzle, the end result being the face of one Bartholomew Roberts.

Resident Sage.

"Why are you looking for him?" Edward asked out of base curiosity.

"He knows the location of the Observatory," James answered. "Him and one other person, apparently." The pointed look was met with a smirk. "Since the other guy won't spill, we've committed ourselves to keeping Roberts out of Templar hands, but to do that, we need to know where he is."

"So the Observatory is the only reason you need the man?" Edward asked.

James mulled it over. "We need the information that he has, and we need to keep it out of Templar hands. Other than that, not really for anything else."

"What would you do if you had the information, then? Would you use the Observatory against the Templars?"

"That depends on just how the Observatory works," James answered. "We know that you can spy on people when using it, and you need a drop of blood and a cube vial. Other than that, we're lost."

"Apparently you need a crystal skull," Edward said smugly, crossing his arms in a show of 'I know something you don't and that makes me better than you.'

James turned his gaze to Jake. "So you would tell this scoundrel more about something as important as the Observatory than you would tell me?"

The hurt in his voice was clear.

Jake didn't care. "Yeah, because he wouldn't shut up about using it and where it is and how it works, and he kept bugging me about his dreams of wealth and riches using the damn Observatory. It got annoying so I decided to key him in on the finer details so he'd shut up."

James' anger washed away, because that was exactly something Edward would do. The man had the decency to look sheepish.

Kidd changed gears. "So where is this crystal skull?"

"I imagine it's in the Observatory."

"And where would that be, exactly?"

"Far from here," Jake grinned.

"You _ass_."

The boy pirate placed a hand on his rear. "I do have an amazing ass. Many women have told me such."

James' face turned red, and his voice shot up a few octaves. "The hell do you mean 'many women'!?"

"I get around," was the simple answer, said with gleaming eyes.

"I swear if you've got some dandy pregnant, I will tear off your balls and then get it through your head that you're going to be the greatest father in the world!"

Jake shuddered at the thought of fatherhood, and Edward shuttered at the thought of mini Jake Swallows sailing around the West Indies. Though, James' seeming maternity regarding the situation, and regarding Jake in general, rubbed Edward in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he was starting to wonder if James wasn't keeping a secret of a kind.

"Kidding, Sis, just kidding." Jake laughed nervously at the burning look of fury he received at the insinuation of sexual activities.

James toned down his emotions and collected himself, then he sent a pointed glare to Jake. "Where is the Observatory? You're not getting out of this cave until you tell me, young man."

"I'm not telling you anything with that tone of voice, _Mom_."

James stepped forward, threateningly. "I'd watch how I speak if I were you, or you'd get to see how much of a _mom_ I can be."

Watching this and listening to this, Edward had it. "Alright, someone explain to me why _you_ are behaving like a woman!"

"Yeah, explain to the poor man why you're behaving like a woman, Sis," Jake taunted cheekily. "There's a smell in the air that I only smell once a month for seven days."

James smacked Jake upside his head, and then gave Edward a searching look.

Then, he cut open his finger, wiped the blood across his lips, and then his hair down from its headband. Edward found himself stricken by what stood before him.

Jake snickered. "I think he likes you, Sis."

"I figured that by the look on his face."

Edward couldn't find the words. "Huh…wha…you're a…and I'm a…who are you?"

"Mary Read," the beauty answered. "This is my little brother, Jake Swallow. We met on the same ship years back, and he saw right through my disguise. Been calling me 'sis' ever since."

Edward stared, flabbergasted. "…well…that…um…that explains a lot," he tried, and failed.

"I think we broke him," Jake snickered.

"We did something to him. Come on. We need to get topside and figure out what to with ourselves for the time being."

Jake kept his snarky remark of "what happened to not leaving until you got the location of the Observatory" to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Strangely enough, the three pirates reached the outside world to find it under siege by Spanish soldiers in the middle of the night. Mary gave Edward and Jake blow dart guns for stealth-oriented operations such as the one presented, and they set about killing the Spanish and freeing the captured Assassins.

In less than ten minutes, the whole crisis was over, and Mary, Jake, and Edward shared a bottle of rum on the beach by a fire together.

"What happens now?" Kenway asked.

"This attack by Laurens Prins won't go unanswered," Mary said. "I'll look into the man myself. That leaves you two."

"I think I'll go East, to Europe. I want to see Rome and Greece, just to say I've seen them."

Mary and Edward stared at Jake.

"What? I've got a ship, a crew, and nothing else to do. All the forts have been captured, most of the islands have been stripped clean, the _Jackdaw_ is at full power, and Nassau is secure. Besides, it's getting kind of boring around the West Indies, and you're worried about me biting off more than I can chew here, so leaving sounds best."

Mary frowned. "So in order to spare my worrying of you here, you're going to make me worry about you sailing all the way to Italy?"

"Yep!"

Mary sighed. "Come here, lad."

Jake scooted through the sand, and the woman put her arm around his shoulder, bringing him into her embrace. Mary rested her head on top of Jake's, closing her eyes. Jake nestled into place, closing his eyes too.

Edward just stared blankly at this whole seen, feeling very awkward.

"I love you, Jake, very much," Mary murmured. "Be careful out there, okay? Promise me."

"I promise I'll be careful out there, Sis."

"Good. Now go out there and have some fun."

Jake reached up and kissed the underside of Mary's jaw, then stood and gave a parting nod to Edward.

"Hold the fort while I'm gone, aye?"

"Aye," Edward said strongly. "Bring me back a souvenir."

"I'll see what I can do."

Minutes later, the _Running Frenchman_ was sailing into the horizon, leaving Mary and Edward alone together.

"What's running through that head of yours?" Mary asked.

Edward took a swig. "Oh, lots of things. This Sage business, the Assassins and Templars, a good man I respect turning out to be a woman, the fact that a boy of fifteen years is really just up and leaving for Greece, and just what am I to do with myself besides plunder prizes as I see fit….It feels like I've done it all and have nothing left to do. No more direction or purpose. The Observatory isn't what I thought it was, and that's been the biggest thing in my life for half a year now. With that dream destroyed…I'm lost."

The pirate stared through the fire into the empty void beyond sight, not knowing who he was anymore.

"Join the Assassins," Mary said simply. "You've already done great things for the Order, and with all the time you've been spending with Jake, I know you've met his philosopher side, and you've heard what he has to say about the war."

"…I don't know," Edward said after a bit. "We're here in the West Indies to escape rules and rulers. It seems contradictory to declare oneself free, but then pledge allegiance to a cause that's not his."

"Then make the Assassin's cause your own, Edward. Think of it like this: you can't be plundering prizes and living free as you like if the Templars get their way."

Edward's uncertainty reigned supreme throughout his spirit. "I don't know…"

Mary smirked, her eye twinkling. "You're a changed man, Edward. All that time with Jake has rubbed you clean of your selfishness and arrogance. You've learned humility and empathy. You're at a crossroads, Edward. You're a blank slate now, and you've got the choice to decide what kind of man you're going to be now."

Edward met her eye, but didn't say anything. Mary continued.

"That's why we Assassins fight. We fight for all man's right to chose who they will become."

Edward's eyes slowly traveled back to the dancing flames.

He needed to find himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Not much actions here, I'm afraid. Just plot-moving things. Sorry it's short, but I threw this chapter together in three hours after realizing I hadn't updated since Halloween.**_

 _ **Edward is no longer canon Edward, obviously, which changes the whole of**_ **Black Flag's** _ **canon. Mary has revealed herself, and Jake is off to Greece, and to get there from the Western world, one has to go through the Strait of Gibraltar.**_

 _ **Remind me again, who in**_ **PJO** _ **canon inhabits that area…?**_

 _ **Also, speaking of**_ **PJO** _ **canon, and the fact that November is election month (11/18 for those reading in the future), I've got a question for all of you: given Uncle Rick's stint towards LGBT tolerance, with canon Solangelo, the lesbian former Hunters at the Waystation, Apollo having a daughter with a man, strong hints at Blitzstone in**_ **Magnus Chase** _ **, Alex Fierro, and other things I'm no doubt forgetting, along with pro-Muslim sentiments portrayed in Samirah al-Abbas, her family, and her arranged husband, Amir Fadlan, pro-atheist sentiments portrayed by Magnus himself, and pro-illegal immigrant sentiment seen in**_ **Kane Chronicles** _ **, in the first book when Carter fights Sobek at the Rio Grande, and he sees a migrant family trying to cross from the Mexican side….**_

… _ **given all of this and whatever more you find for yourselves through more research, would the**_ **PJO** _ **cast be liberals, conservatives, or something else?**_

 _ **Food for thought, no need for heated debate over a fictitious work of fanfiction.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	38. The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt 1

_The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt. 1_

 _ **No, I'm not dead.**_

 _ **No, I'm not sorry.**_

 _ **No, I've not forgotten you people.**_

 _ **Yes, I had a great Thanksgiving.**_

 _ **Yes, I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving too.**_

 _ **Yes, I've been playing**_ **Odyssey** _ **. Rather fun.**_

 _ **I also made a mistake when I was talking about the Strait of Gibraltar. Yes, Heracles is there, and I both remembered that and forgot about that, and Jake will meet the legendary hero, but that is not the grand seen I was referring to.**_

 _ **So, more appropriately, who patrols about the Mediterranean in a trireme, and is a pirate…?**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Strait of Gibraltar_

 _May 1716_

Sailing from the West Indies to the bottom of Europe was rather uneventful. There weren't any other ships about, so there was nothing for the crew of the _Running Frenchman_ to plunder or shoot their cannons at, and just shooting the guns was a waste of ammunition.

There was a breaching whale every now and then, and a storm they sailed through, but that was it as far as excitement went.

And the occasional on-deck duel.

Supplies had been plentiful, as Jake had seen to it that the hold was chalk-full of food and drink. The last thing he wanted was a mutiny over not enough to eat.

There was also the small problem of developing pregnancies, as since there were men and women on the _Running Frenchman_ , and they each had their own sex drives, and there was nothing stopping them from having sex, some of the men got with the women and now babies were happening.

Granted, that was still a long time off, but pregnant women were strange creatures, even more so than their non-pregnant counterparts, and Jake and the rest of the male crew were in no _small_ hurry to find land and get some air not being breathed by a person that demanded a chicken gizzard slathered in chocolate and cooked in vinegar.

So, when the lookout in the crow's nest over a hundred feet in the air shouted "Land! It's land you smelly motherfuckers!" there were thrown hats and cries of joy.

Jake was so happy he kissed Mr. Biggs full on the mouth…and both of had a fit of spitting afterwards.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, that's Spain, and that's Africa," Jake observed. "More specifically, that's the Rock of Gibraltar and that's some random mountains."

"Yes," Mr. Biggs said.

"…eh. Not impressed. However, that's more because of that island that just appeared than anything else."

"Island? What isl—oh. That island."

"Yeah, and the guy on the island in the purple dress."

"I believe that's Hercules. Though I thought he'd be on Olympus with his wife, Hebe."

"Hercules, huh? So, if he's real, that means that the Roman gods are real, which I suppose also means the Greek gods are real, and since you're an Egyptian magician, that means the Egyptian gods are real…"

"Is there a point to all this, Cap'n?"

"Well," Jake shrugged. "All these gods that are supposedly false gods and idols are real, and the Bible says they're not real, and it just makes me wonder…is the Bible really true, then?"

"Oh, it is _very_ true," Mr. Biggs said reverently. "Moses did indeed come to Egypt and demand his people's freedom, and he did indeed bring the power of God with him. Ramses had the ten most powerful magicians of the age duel Moses, and all ten were defeated… _soundly_. Remember Jake: just because more clues to the mystery of life are revealed, does not mean that what is known becomes false."

Jake nodded after a time. "Aye. So, those pillars there, with that big _NON PLUS ULTRA_ in the sand, and Hercules…should we just keep sailing, or stop in and say hi?"

"Considering we can see the island and Hercules, and I am one-hundred percent positive that all of us combined cannot take him…we should stop in and say hi."

"Should we pray to God to give us safe passage?"

"Would you really have faith that God would give us safe passage?"

"Not really."

"Then you shouldn't pray. All hands, trim the sails and prepare to weigh anchor!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hercules was not as impressive as the legends portrayed him to be, in Jake's opinion. The pirate expected a massive, hulking figure of muscle and hair, a toga, sandals, and a golden wreath around his head.

Instead, Hercules looked like a dark-haired Edward with higher regard for personal appearance and hygiene.

And there was a big club stuck in the sand.

"Ahoy," Jake greeted, Mr. Biggs next to him.

"Hi," the hero said neutrally. Hercules' bright blue eyes were flicking between the captain and the first mate. " _Your_ soul is strange to me. Like a demigod's, yet not. And _you're_ an Egyptian sailing into foreign lands…why?"

"We want to," Jake shrugged. "Always heard Greece had some sights, and life is too short not to go do what you want."

Hercules blinked, now assuming a confused expression. "Where did you sail from?"

"The West Indies."

"You sailed from the New World to the Ancient Lands…to sight-see?"

"Yep."

Hercules blinked a few more times, trying to comprehend the strange minds of mortals. "…okay. Well, since you're here, on my island, that means you have at least a sliver of divine affinity in you, which means that I am legally obligated to give you a quest to prove you are worthy enough to enter the Ancient Lands."

Jake's smile lessened. "And what would this quest entail?"

Like any sane individual would attest to, being sent on errands was both vexing and infuriating, and patience for such an exercise wore thin very quickly.

Hercules stroked his chin in thought. "You see that coconut there in the sand? Bring it to me."

Jake blinked, then walked over to the coconut, picked it up, and brought it to Hercules.

The god took it. "Thank you," he said, and then he broke it open, and started guzzling the milk inside.

When he was done, he belched so loudly the island shook, and Jake stopped breathing temporarily to keep the smell out of his nostrils.

"Alright," Hercules grinned. "You have proven yourself worthy to enter the Ancient Lands. Try not to die, and if you just can't help yourself, do it gloriously!"

"Right. Have a nice day."

Mr. Biggs nodded fervently, agreeing with his captain.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the _Running Frenchman_ sailed away into the Mediterranean, Jake said as quietly as possible: "I think there's something wrong with that one."

"Agreed. If I had to guess, he's been on that island for years without contact with other people."

"Oof."

"Oof," Mr. Biggs said.

"Still, I feel some strange connection to Hercules, like he'll be important later on in my life…or the next." Jake's face screwed up. "I feel strange."

"It's the air of the Ancient Lands," Mr. Biggs supplied.

"Yeah, that's it. Onward to Greece, then."

"Do you have a heading, Cap'n?"

" _That_ direction."

"Aye! That direction it is!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They sailed in _that_ direction into the next morning. The night crew turned in for the day, and the day crew returned to their duties. Upon this return to their duties, they were greeted with an eerie fog.

"Mr. Biggs," Jake said.

"Yes, Cap'n?"

"It is my experience that when you enter an eerie fog like this one, especially an eerie fog in a mysterious and magical land, that typically means there's something in the fog heading right for you to attack you. What do you have to say to that notion?"

"I'd say you're onto something there, Cap'n."

"Oh, good. I'm not the only crazy one on this ship, then." Jake raised his voice to where it boomed over the whole _Running Frenchman_.

"ALL HANDS TO YOUR STATIONS! LOAD CANNONS, MORTARS, CHASE CANNONS AND SWIVELS! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!"

A crewman grabbed the alarm bell and began furiously ringing it. The crew exploded into action at the giving of the orders, and the deck became a bustling mess of organized chaos as everyone went about their jobs. The panels along the sides of the _Running Frenchman_ opened, and the 60-pounders were pushed into the light, loaded and ready. Ammunition was stuffed into the mortars, and the operators crouched nearby, ready for orders. Inside the ship, the six chase cannons, the front-mounted guns, were loaded and the gunners waited with their ears peeled. The swivels were manned and awaiting command.

Then, with everyone in place, silence took hold, only broken by the sound of the _Running Frenchman_ gliding through the waves.

Jake took tight hold of the wheel, eyes narrowed at the fog in front and to the sides, his head on a swivel as he looked for impending threats.

"Do you sense anything, Mr. Biggs?"

"Three hundred meters in front of the bow and closing fast."

"What is it?"

The old-looking man squinted, eyes glued forward. "I see a…I think that's a…is that…a trireme…?"

Jake blinked. "As in an Ancient Greek trireme?"

"Aye. I think."

"How far now?"

"About a hundred meters and getting closer."

"RAMMING SPEED!" Jake thundered.

The _Running Frenchman_ suddenly sped forward, gaining ten knots in seconds. Out of the fog came the shape of a slim, single-masted ship, and the galleon rammed right into it, going straight into the other ship's bow. The impact was mighty, cracking several lengths of wood about the _Running Frenchman_ , and the crew stumbled. Damage to the trireme was unknown, but the apparent crew of the trireme were humanoid dolphins.

Jake and no one else dwelled on the oddity of the situation, and all instead focused on treating the seemingly ancient ship as hostile, which it actually was. The boy pirate spun the wheel, directing his ship to port, while the trireme did the same. Grappling hooks were thrown by the _much_ smaller boat, and Jake had none of that.

"FIRE BROADSIDE!"

Now, for those still lost, the trireme was the ship of Chrysaor, the son of Medusa and brother of Pegasus. You can google for yourself more specifics, but if you're reading this story, you should have A) read the _Mark of Athena_ by now, and B) at least watched gameplay of _AC:OD_. Anyway, when it came to the _Running Frenchman_ and Chrysaor's trireme, there was clear difference in everything.

One: the trireme had only one mast, where the _Running Frenchman_ had three, meaning more sails and more speed.

Two: the trireme was almost a full twenty meters _shorter_ than the galleon, meaning a massive difference in mass.

Three: width, with the _Running Frenchman_ being ten meters wider than the trireme, which meant more storage and ammo, and also more mass.

Four: Jake's ship came up a lot higher out of the water than the trireme, since it had many more decks.

Five: the differences in firepower should be obvious.

In summary: the _Running Frenchman_ was faster, longer, fatter, taller, and stronger than the trireme, outclassing it in everything except maneuverability, and experience. If Chrysaor had one glaring advantage in this conflict, it was centuries of pirating under his belt, along with his crew, vs the few year to maybe two decades of experience Jake's crew had, and the Golden Sword's ship could turn better.

The crew of Chrysaor was also a bunch of cursed dolphin people, ageless immortals.

The point of all that is that the information provided will be crucial in coming chapters. Now, back to the main story.

At Jake's command, over thirty cannons went off at roughly the same time, pelting the trireme below with balls of metal that weighed as much as some children, moving at roughly 150m/s. Unfortunately, the trireme was made of Celestial bronze, and while it wasn't shredded to pieces like any wooden ship would have been, it did take several dents, with many of the dolphin-like crew being crushed by the sheer weight of the cannonballs.

Because of that, the grappling lines were still secured, and the trireme started hauling itself in for close-quarters combat.

Jake gave orders to prepare, and where no one was truly concerned with their opponents being dolphin people, as Mr. Biggs had already informed everyone that weird things were present in the world, they were wondering whether their weapons would have any effect.

The enemy crew boarded and chaos ensued. Gunshots, the clanging of steel, the sounds of fists and legs on flesh. There was an impasse, however. Jake's crew had weapons of iron, and the mythological crew had weapons of magical metal, and neither was doing any harm to the other, as each respective blade was passing through opponents like they were made of air.

It was a quickly realized problem, and so the swords and guns went away, and everyone broke out into fisticuffs.

That was when it was discovered that enough blunt force trauma to the skull and enough force applied to other areas was enough to cause death and grievous injury to the dolphin men.

It should also be known that, since the _Running Frenchman_ was roughly three times bigger than the trireme—which was a full-sized trireme straight from the Peloponnesian War—the crew was much bigger, and numbers helped big time.

It seemed that the mortal crew was going to win, their superior crew size giving them the advantage of almost three-to-one in most cases, along with Mr. Biggs' spells, until the enemy captain joined the fray.

The tide of the battle instantly turned due to the skill and strength of the Golden Sword, as he was able to handle over five mortals at once with practiced ease.

Jake was seemingly the match to the enemy captain, as he himself was able to fight off so many opponents with no outside help. Out of the corner of his eye, through the din of chaos, he saw the turmoil happening on his ship. He finished the dolphin man before him, snapping the creature's neck, and he gave his challenge.

Over the sounds of hand-to-hand battle, Jake roared, "HO THERE, KNAVE!"

Combat came to a halt, all eyes going to Jake who stood on top of the railing in front of the wheel.

"What is your name?" Jake demanded.

"I am Chrysaor, the Golden Sword, son of Medusa and Poseidon. What is your name?"

Chrysaor wore old armor, gold—all of it—and a helmet styled in the likeness of a gorgon hid his face. The immortal was tall, well-built, and what skin showed was tanned from years at sea.

"Jake Swallow. You are raiding my ship. Leave now and I won't kill you."

Chrysaor and the dolphins broke into raucous laughter.

"You?" the Golden Sword sneered. "A mortal boy thinks he can best me in single combat? Fool, extraordinary demigods have tried their hand at besting me, and all have met the same fate. You think that you, a mere mortal, can succeed where they did not?"

"Aye."

Though his expression couldn't be seen, it was clear Chrysoar was amused. "Give me one of your mortal swords, then. Let us see if you can put the bite to your bark. If you win, my crew will leave. If I win, I take you, your crew, your ship, and everything on it to with as I see fit."

"Deal."

Jake jerked his head, and a crewman tossed Chrysaor a sword. The son of Medusa caught it and twirled it around in an impressive display of skill as he got a feel for the weight. Chrysaor jerked his head, and two dolphins tossed their Celestial bronze cutlasses to Jake, who also caught them and made a show of getting used to the feel.

In canon, Percy Jackson had his ass handed to him on a bronze platter, and Chrysaor made it look easy. We're talking about one of the most powerful demigods of the age, with half a decade of sword-fighting experience, on his home turf of the sea, granted with great physical abilities by the godly power in him, and he was _soundly_ defeated.

In this specific instance, we're talking about a mortal with the _soul_ of a demigod, but since it was established all the way back in the filler chapter about why Assassin!Percy isn't a girl when all his genetic material is coming from his mother as gods don't have DNA, demigod abilities are physical, coming from their bodies, Jake had no higher physical abilities than what was usual for those of Assassin lineage.

That is stay, ungodly stamina, being able to run for miles at top speed without slowing, climb massive structures, from buildings, to trees, to mountains, fight through hordes of men and women without tiring, swim for miles without drowning, _and_ do all of those things in a single day _while wearing full suits of armor and decked out with half a dozen different weapons_.

Suffice to say, if you took the gameplay mechanic seriously, Assassins were some pretty OP guys.

Unfortunately, the abilities of an Assassin paled in comparison to that of a demigod, whose lineage was truly divine.

All of that was an over convoluted way of saying that Jake was fucked.

The boy pirate pointed his swords forward, and Chrysaor started circling. The crews back away, creating a large area for the duel. Of course, Jake wasn't an idiot. He knew the myth of this person, and it was clear he knew what he was doing with that sword. The way Chrysaor held it, the way he moved, his body language—he was superior here, and he knew it.

He was overconfident.

And that would be his downfall.

Jake charged forward at full speed, and Chrysaor just stepped to the side with ease, smirking under his helmet.

"Olay!" the immortal added for effect.

Jake ran right to the mainmast, grabbed the hook, kicked the lever, and went shooting up. Chrysaor growled, a strange sound with that helmet on, at being duped like that.

He barked orders at his crew, "None of you is to raise a hand against the mortals until I bring Jake's corpse back down here!"

Chrysaor sheathed his sword at his belt and started climbing up the hard way, but he did it with breathtaking speed and agility, bounding up the main mast like a gazelle. Down on the deck, Jake's pirates had no such intentions of restraining themselves, and their surprise attack against the dolphins, along with their still-superior numbers, made the ensuing second round of battle a short one.

Chrysaor heard the commotion down below, looked down to investigate—while he was just one handhold away from the platform Jake was on—and he cursed.

"Bloody pirates!"

"Damn straight!"

Chrysaor's head snapped up, but by then, Jake was already well in motion. The Golden Sword's body reacted on pure instinct, and that pure instinct cost him. His arms moved to block, losing his grip entirely, and he started to fall down to the deck, roughly seventy feet below. Jake plowed into the son of Medusa, running both of his swords through the arms and the chest, piercing the lungs and the ribs, filling Chrysaor's mouth with his blood.

They smashed onto the deck, and where a fall like that would easily kill a normal man, Jake was not a normal man, and Chrysaor was not a man at all.

"You…cheated…!" the Golden Sword gurgled.

"Pirate," Jake grinned. "Like I would take you on in a fair fight. You've got more experience and skill than I do, but you can still be distracted like any other thing, and that one moment is all I need."

And then the pirate turned serious. "On your way to Hell, I want you to beg forgiveness from all my men that you killed."

Jake ripped the cutlasses out and raked both of them across Chrysaor's neck, beheading the son of Poseidon. He turned to golden powder and blew away in a warm breeze.

The deck of the _Running Frenchman_ was littered with bodies, both mortal and otherwise.

Jake exhaled shortly. "Alright everyone, the excitement is over. Time to clean up and see what kind of goodies we can find on the trireme still attached to our hull."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Clean up was not as teary as on might have thought, even for the women in Jake's crew. They were pirates, dying was an occupational hazard, and getting too attached to anyone was folly. However, in the face of close attachments, losing someone was met with a short "Fuck!," and a short remembering statement.

All the bodies were simply tossed overboard, as there was no point in some special burial or funeral rite. To the pirates, simply going overboard was a funeral rite. To live _on_ the sea, it was only right to eternally rest _in_ the sea.

On the trireme, the pirates found a fortune. Gold, silver, jewels, paintings, clothes, weapons, antiques, artifacts, and more goodies. For all the men lost this day, the rewards were well worth it.

At least, in the mind of a pirate.

Speaking of artifacts…

"Captain!" a crewwoman called.

Jake went to the woman. "Aye?"

"Here, sir."

She handed Jake a large bronze ball, one that was covered in a pattern of lines.

Jake took it. "An Apple," he muttered. "If Chrysaor's been pirating the Mediterranean for hundreds and hundreds of years, I guess it makes sense he would've plundered either a Templar or Assassin ship with a Piece of Eden on it."

"What do we do with it, sir?"

"I'm going to through it overboard and forget we ever found it."

Much of the crew had been around to overhear the conversation, and none of them disagreed. Oh sure, Jake had told them all about the struggle of the Assassins and Templars, and what the Pieces of Eden could do, and such a power terrified the pirates.

Objects that could make them do things they didn't want to do? Hell no!

Anyway, Jake did just what he said he was going to do. He stood on the deck of the _Running Frenchman_ , and hurled the large ball as far as he could. He watched it sail and hit the water with a _bloop_ , and then he started panicking when the water started glowing a bright gold, and getting brighter, as if about to ex-

"HIT THE DECK!"

Even in the face of finding cover, it didn't do anyone any good. A massive shockwave of temporal energy stored in the Apple of Eden washed over the _Running Frenchman_ , making the ship shudder and creak and rock.

When everything settled, the whole crew got worried when they saw clear skies, open water, and many islands in the distance…along with a trireme bigger than Chrysaor's—though still not as big as the _Running Frenchman_ —approaching them.

On the ship's mainsail, a big wall of canvas, was the design of a hydra.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Like I said, I've been playing**_ **Odyssey** _ **. Whenever I start something like that, I don't stop until I'm finished. Luckily, I am almost done, and when that happens, my full attention returns to this story and trying to get through to the end of this arc.**_

 _ **I'm running out of steam for**_ **AC:T** _ **, as is usual for when I don't work on it for a while. I'm thinking returning to**_ **Blood War** _ **, or finishing**_ **GEG** _ **. I don't know yet.**_

 _ **Anyway,**_ **Odyssey** _ **has been out for two months now, and if you haven't been reading wikis, watching gameplay, or have the game already and aren't that far in yet, well poop on you. They aren't really spoilers anymore at this point, but still. Knowledge of the higher story arcs in**_ **Odyssey** _ **ahead, and Kassandra will be the misthios, and Alexios will be Deimos.**_

 _ **Oh, and the ship approaching the**_ **Running Frenchman** _ **is the Hydra, Sage of the Gods of the Aegean Sea.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


	39. The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt 2

_The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt. 2_

 _ **Well, I finished**_ **Odyssey** _ **, and now I feel empty, incomplete. There was no definitive ending to the game, nothing to lead it into the next entry. All we have is Layla down there in Atlantis, still seeing Kassandra's memories, though there isn't much left since I've completed the Odyssey, Atlantis, and the Cult, and all the side quests and locations.**_

 _ **There is literally nothing else for me to do in the game. I'm just hoping there's a New Game Plus addition coming with the next update.**_

 _ **Oh, and for some reason, Olouros Fort won't complete, even though I've done all objectives several times over. Any theories or suggestions?**_

 _ **Also, I'm surprised no one wanted to argue about the duel between Jake and Chrysaor. I had this whole essay planned out and everything.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Aegean Sea_

 _Somewhere Back in Time_

Jake was concerned. An Apple of Eden explodes, and suddenly the fog is gone, revealing bright blue water, and bright blue sky, and distant islands, and an approaching trireme bigger and grander than Chrysaor's had been, with a majestic mainsail and a crew of people in strange silver armor with purple plumes on their helmets.

Seen from the spyglass, of course.

Chrysaor's ship was gone, as was its grappling lines, but the scuffs in the wood of the _Running Frenchman_ were still there, much to Jake's ire. All of this weird stuff happening, and the universe _couldn't_ fix his ship?

Anyway, no one of the crew had any idea what was going on, or what the approaching ship wanted, but no one detected any hostility in the air.

That didn't stop Jake from giving orders to load cannons and wait for his signal.

The trireme got closer and pulled up next to the _Running Frenchman_ , the rowers of the older ship halting forward movement while the silver-clad crew pulled in the sails.

"Hello down there!" Jake said amicably.

"Greetings," the man presumed to be the captain said.

He wore a grey chest plate with a black scarf, leather sleeves around his wrists tied down with white straps, a metal plate on his left forearm. He wore the skirt-looking thing whose proper name escaped Jake, and grieves the same color as his chest plate. His skin was tan from the sun, and his black hair was pushed back, and he had stubble about his cheeks, chin, and lips. A sword hung at his waist.

"I have never seen a ship like this before, and your clothes are strange to me. From whence do you sail, stranger?"

"The West Indies."

"I have never heard of such a place."

"I figured you wouldn't. You know what year it is?"

The captain blinked. "Pardon me?"

"The year," Jake said. "What is it?"

"It's the second year of our King Archidamos. Or the thirty-fourth year of Perikles, if you go by the Athenian calendar."

"…ah."

Beside Jake, Mr. Biggs was pale.

"How do you not know this?" the Greek captain asked.

"We're not from around here," Jake said.

"I see. Well, I welcome you aboard my ship, so that I may educate you on where you are."

Jake didn't like the look in the man's eye, and he wasn't blind to the body language of the armored crew.

"No thanks. You can educate me from down there."

"Pity," the captain shook his head. "Unfortunately, I like this ship of yours, and I will claim it for the Cult of Kosmos."

That was all that Jake needed to thunder "FIRE!" and duck to avoid the splinters. The _Running Frenchman_ 's cannons spewed their loads, shredding the trireme not twenty feet away. Wooden shrapnel shot in all directions, and enemy bodies were tossed into the sea, or if they were lucky, were hit by a cannonball and killed instantly.

For the life of him, Jake never understood why sailors didn't learn how to swim.

The captain of the trireme was fortunate enough to take a cannonball to the face, and he lost his head. A very quick death, if not a little messy.

The trireme, in shambles, started sinking, its crew dead or drowning.

"Someone fish the captain down there out of the water," Jake ordered.

Harpoons with line attached were grabbed and hurled, spearing the captain's body through. The line was pulled in by hand, and the captain grabbed when in range. The corpse was presented to Jake on the deck. After a quick loot, a little triangle fragment was found—a clear Piece of Eden, given the metal, the work, and the design on the fragment—and a scroll with a message on it:

" _You have set fire to the waves, as Kosmos commanded, but soon peace will come. When it does, you must rise above your wayward ambition to be controller of the seas. Imagine the world Kosmos has shown me: None shall sail without sailing under you. You will own the seas, and I the land, as king and queen, ruling over the entire world."_

The crew listened intently to Jake's reciting of the scroll, and after he was done, Jake spoke to Mr. Biggs. "Those years Mr. Hydra mentioned…what do they mean, exactly?"

"Perikles was the leader of Athens, known as the Father of Democracy. Archidamos was the king of Sparta. They both ruled during the Peloponnesian War, roughly at 429 years before the birth of Christ."

Jake paled considerably. "Oh…well, shit."

A somber air fell over the _Running Frenchman_ as they all realized that they had been flung over two thousand years into the past, and there was no clear way to get back to their own time. Effectively, they were stuck.

Until Jake got wind back in his sails.

"Alright, enough moping. We've been through hard things together, and this thing ain't no damn different. We're going to make a plan, and we're going to execute it. First off, since we're in lovely 429 B.C. in beautiful Greece, ammunition for our guns is nonexistent, so we need to avoid naval combat as much as possible. Second, we stick out like sore thumbs, so we need outfits to blend in. Thirdly, a Piece of Eden got us here, and it'll get us out. This guy is a member of the Cult of Kosmos, and he has this little doohickey on him, and I imagine other members do too. So, find more Cult members, find more of these triangles, and somewhere on the way we're going to find a Piece."

"Great plan, Captain. Where are we going to start?"

"Excellent question, William. These Cultists remind me of the Templars, and if the Cult is anything like the Templars, that means they're going to have people in high places, like politicians."

"Like Perikles," Jose said.

Jake nodded. "Set course for Athens. This ship is conspicuous, aye, but I ain't letting her by herself in this time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From the maps and the best guess they could make, the crew of the _Running Frenchman_ managed to find the mainland where Athens was at, the region of Attika. As fate would have it, the beach they arrived at was also occupied by a trireme, and everyone aboard was looking at the galleon with bewildered expressions.

No other ships had been sunk by the _Running Frenchman_ , as none had crossed her path.

The galleon dropped anchor a fair way away, and Jake gave orders to his crew to hold the ship down and let no one aboard, leaving Mr. Biggs in charge. The boy pirate hopped off the bowsprit and into the water, and swam to shore, intent on finding Perikles and gathering information on the Cult of Kosmos to find a Piece of Eden that could hopefully get him and his crew back to the West Indies during 1716.

Jake didn't get four steps onto the beach before he was called out.

"Excuse me!"

The pirate looked to the speaker, a woman in her mid-twenties wearing armor, a red scarf around her breast, and a helmet with a red and black plume. A sword hung at her belt on the left and a dagger at her right hip, and she had a spear, a staff, a heavy bludgeon, and a really big axe at her back, a quiver of arrows, and a bow. And when Jake said spear, he meant an actual spear, as he couldn't see the broken one.

He was wondering how this person was able to move with all that weight on them, and then he remembered how he and Edward could move just fine with swords, guns, ammo and utilities all over them, and how the old Assassins Ezio and Vergil could do the same wearing full suits of armor, and concluded that the woman approaching him had Assassin blood in her.

The pirate blinked once, and suddenly all the weapons were gone except the sword and bow.

"Hi," Jake said shortly.

The woman, after jogging up to him in full gear, was not winded. " _Chaire_ , friend. I've never seen a ship like yours before, and your clothes are strange, as are your weapons."

"Yeah, the last guy that said that died, because he got stupid and tried to take over my ship. Please don't follow in his footsteps."

"I'll try not to," the woman said with a grin, putting her hands on her hips, giving off an air of friendliness. "I am Kassandra."

"Jake."

Kassandra adopted a confused expression. "I've never heard such a name before. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The West Indies."

"Where?"

"A few thousand miles in that general direction." Jake pointed west.

Kassandra followed the finger. "A few thousand…that would put you over the edge of the world!"

"The world is round," Jake said shortly.

"It is? Incredible. Do all people from the _West…Indies_ sail ships as magnificent as that, and bear weapons and clothes like you?"

"Yes," Jake said flatly. He wasn't sure what the relationship between him and this woman was going to be, but he had a time period to get back to, and he didn't want to make friends that he would have to leave behind.

Then again, nothing said he couldn't bring people back to the future with him.

Unless that would create some kind of cosmic catastrophe.

There was so much revolving around this time travel crap that Jake's head hurt.

"Could you take me there?" Kassandra asked.

"Why would you want to go to the West Indies?"

Kassandra's face tightened, and Jake could tell she had an underlying motive that she didn't want to reveal. It was the same kind of face Jake saw on Mary when she was performing Assassin stuff and wanted to involve him but was trying to figure out how to put it on the table without bringing out his inner philosopher.

"Let me guess," Jake said, "you are on some great quest to save the world or a little bit of the world from some threat in shadows, and the promise of a bigger ship and better weapons has created visions of success in your head."

"More or less," Kassandra admitted.

"And what is this shadowed threat?" Jake asked, though he was already sensing the answer.

"If I told you who they are and what they are doing, you would not believe me."

Jake produced the triangle fragment from the Hydra, causing Kassandra's eyes to widen.

"They wouldn't happen to be called the Cult of Kosmos, would they?" Jake's eye gleamed manically.

"Where did you get that?" Kassandra asked.

"That guy that wanted my ship? He called himself the Hydra, and he had this little thingy on him, along with a scroll from the Ghost of Kosmos. Apparently, the Ghost is a woman."

"That narrows it down to only several thousand people," Kassandra muttered. "So, you know of the Cult, and you have one of the pieces I need to upgrade my spear—"

"Your spear?" Jake asked.

Kassandra reached behind and pulled out the weapon hidden behind her back, attached to her quiver. "This is the broken Spear of Leonidas."

Jake blinked. "I've heard Leo-NIGH-das before, but not Leo-NEE-das."

"No, I'm pretty sure my grandfather's name is pronounced Leo-NEE-das," Kassandra said stiffly.

Sensing such an argument would go nowhere fast, Jake moved on. "So, is that just a broken spear tip, or does it do things?"

"It does things."

Jake reached out for it, and as he did, the spear tip started glowing. The pirate retracted his hand. "A Piece of Eden…" he said quietly.

"A piece of what?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the Garden of Eden?"

"No…"

"Adam and Eve?"

"Who?"

Jake blinked very slowly, trying to comprehend how someone on Planet Earth hadn't ever heard of the oldest Biblical story, and then he remembered he was in 430 B.C. The Bible was still being _written_ during this time, and it wasn't exactly available in a corner store. Now that Jake further thought of it, he doubted anyone in 430 B.C. Greece even knew what a Bible was.

"Never mind. The short version is that Pieces of Eden are things left behind by an ancient civilization."

"You should talk more with my friend, Herodotus."

Jake blinked once again at the unfamiliar pronunciation of a word he knew. "Yeah, I'll get on that one eventually. In the meantime, considering we've crossed paths as we have and we both know of the Cult of Kosmos and we have an aligned interest—"

"How so?"

"The Cult may have knowledge of something that I need, and I intend to hunt them down until I find that knowledge."

"I intend to hunt them down and kill them, so I suppose it makes sense for us to travel together. You can interrogate them for this knowledge you seek, and I can cut their throats after you're done."

"Perfect. I was heading to Athens to talk to Pericles to see if he knows anything."

"What a coincidence, so was I."

…

Jake could _feel_ the universe actually working in his favor, and it felt good.

There was a screech, and an eagle of all things unceremoniously lit atop Kassandra's helmet. "Ah, this is Ikaros, my eagle."

Just then, Jake's own flying companion lit on his shoulder. "This is Larry, my sparrow."

Kassandra' brow furrowed. "I guess Larry is a name native to the West Indies, as is a 'sparrow.'"

"Correct."

"You never said whether you would take me to the West Indies."

"Oh, the answer is no, because I'm here, I'm all you're going to need."

Now Kassandra looked dubious. "You are all I'm going to need? A boy a head shorter than me?"

"Yes."

Jake said it with such finality and seriousness that Kassandra blinked, as if she had been struck by an acorn. "Oh. Okay, then. I guess we'll be travelling together for a while then. Plenty of time to trade knowledge over the Cult and get to know one another better."

There was a certain suggestive tone in Kassandra's voice that reminded Jake of when Mary got wasted.

It took a lot for Mary to get wasted, but when she did, she got…flirty.

Jake's skin crawled. "Woman, I am sixteen. You are somewhere in your twenties."

"And? The gods are several thousand years old, but that does not stop them."

"We're not gods," Jake said flatly.

"You might not be," Kassandra said, teasing, "but they call me the eagle-bearer, the mighty _misthios_ , a goddess in human form."

"Fascinating," Jake said flatly. "I think I left my fucks to give somewhere back in Cuba."

Chrysaor intimidated Jake, because Chrysaor was an actual mythological figure who had centuries of combat experience under his belt. Kassandra was nothing like Chrysaor, and Jake could tell by her movements that he could fight her to at least a standstill, and thus was not affected by her bragging, teasing or not.

"I take it Cuba is in the West Indies. Very well then, Jake of the West Indies, sparrow-bearer, let's go to Athens and meet with Pericles regarding the Cult of Kosmos."

"Do let's."

Kassandra whistled, and from over a hill a horse came trotting up.

Jake's face screwed up. "Has that thing been there the whole time?"

"Actually, I'm not sure where Phobos goes when I'm not riding him."

"You named the horse Phobos," Jake said. "You know, the last horse I had, I called him Roach. Nice horse, strong, dependable, always followed me, but God forbid he ever swam."

"Which god?" Kassandra asked.

Jake was once again caught flat-footed at someone not knowing about God.

' _Dear Lord, these people and their lack of modern intelligence is going to drive me up the damn wall.'_

Jake also didn't know how he was going to explain an entire religion, a monotheistic one at that, to a person from a time period of polytheistic pantheons every corner you turned, and so he didn't bother with trying.

"All of them," Jake said. "Where I'm from, instead of having a bunch of temples and rituals for dozens of deities, we decided to roll them all into one supreme being, and simply call him 'God.'"

Honestly, not an entirely inaccurate statement.

"I see. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Of course, you haven't. Now, going to Athens and meeting Pericles?"

"Yes. Get on."

Kassandra mounted Phobos, and clearly expected Jake to get on the space behind her. With no other alternative, the pirate did just that, and ignored his sense of embarrassment at having to hold onto a grown woman's waist lest he fall off.

"What do you know of the Cult?" Kassandra asked loudly over Phobos' running across the terrain.

"They're in positions of political and military might, controlling the actions of both sides of the war, all with the end goal of them being the victors with the world under their feet."

"Oh. Spot on. I think you have more knowledge on the Cult than you let on."

"Oh, please, Kassandra. Organizations like the Cult of Clocks are all the same. A bunch of people working in the shadows with delusions of power of prestige running through their heads. Once you drag them into the light, they'll give you some self-righteous spiel about their actions, intentions, and visions, trying to convince you that they're somehow right in what they're doing, but you'll just end up cutting their throat open anyway."

Jake waited for a rebuttal or some warning about how the Cult was different, but instead he got a question.

"What's a clock?"

"A device that tells time. Think a sundial, but without the sun."

"How can you keep track of the time without Apollo passing overhead? Have you come into the power of Kronos in the West Indies?"

Jake sighed at having to deal with someone with a lack of knowledge regarding modern technology, but he instantly perked up when he recognized the opportunity for endless mind-fuckery.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The whole horse ride to Athens, Jake messed around with Kassandra's head, playing with her ignorance. Karma took care of him for his meanness though, because his ass was really sore from riding on Phobos as the horse went up and down hills and hurdled low enough obstacles.

Now, one might be wondering why Jake is so relatively calm being over two thousand years in the past, and the reason for that is simple: the time periods were drastically similar. Both eras had no electricity, plumbing, heating, air conditioning, wi-fi, lighting, fast food, cars, trains, _nothing_. The only real differences in the times were the weaving and metal working, and gunpowder.

Besides that, everyone smelled. Baths were rare. Animal shit was all over the ground. Swords were common. Hygiene was terrible. Living conditions were borderline deplorable. Food took forever to prepare. Bad language spewed from everyone's mouth. Hairy people at every corner. Class differences. Social strife. Rich vs. poor.

A real-time example of the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Jake was more amused than anything.

Anyway, the two eventually found themselves in Athens, where it smelled, and they were drawing looks from everyone they passed.

"I think it's my skin," Jake said.

"Why would your skin draw such attention? Clearly, you are the son of someone from islands. People like that are all over Greece."

The pirate grinned, his joke having flown far over Kassandra's head. "Good point. I suppose it's my clothes, then."

"Yes. I think we should get you something for appropriate for this land. I take it you don't have any drachmae on you?"

"Quite the contrary," Jake grinned, recalling the riches on Chrysaor's ship, riches that now belonged to him. "I'm loaded, bitch."

"I take it 'loaded' is a West Indies term for wealthy?"

"Yes. Let's go find a shop."

The nearest shop was easy to find, and Jake made a fashion statement from the bowels of Hell itself.

He had kept his trousers and shirt, leaving his waist and forearms devoid of armor, and in place of his boots were ornamented gold Athenian shoes. Over his upper body he wore an adorned silver heavy Athenian breastplate, the tassels on his shoulders without the little nubs. His tricorn hat with the fancy feather was still upon his head, and he had redone his belts to accommodate his new gear.

"Could you have found a brighter chest plate?" Kassandra asked, raising a hand to block the rays reflected off Jake's golden torso.

"Probably," Jake said with a grin. "How do I look?"

"Less strange than when I first saw you, but still strange. Those…pants…look like they restrict movement."

"Nope. Free as a feather."

Kassandra shook her head at the oddity in her life that was Jake of the West Indies. "Come on. The Pnyx is on that hill. That's where Herodotus said to meet him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Getting up there, they found a small crowd, and a couple of old guys giving a speech about unity in hard times.

In Jake's mind, he repeated a mantra that went as follows: _Who's the Cultist?_

He wasn't sure just _how_ Eagle Vision was able to that, pick out the object of your desire or your person of interest, but it was a very handy thing to use when looking for stuff in which you only had a vague idea of where to look. Anyway, Jake's world went screwy, and the guy in the white armor, glowed bright gold.

Jake just couldn't resist grinning.

"Same old, same old," he muttered.

Kassandra was too focused on the speech to hear him.

A man in a tunic approached. "Good, you came. Who's this?"

"My friend, Jake of the West Indies," Kassandra introduced.

"Where?"

"Don't worry about it," Jake said. "I take it you're Herodotus?"

"Well, that's close to how you pronounce my name, but yes, I am Herodotus."

"Pleased to meet you. Who's the old guy in the armor?"

"That is Kleon. Come, we have to hurry to Perikles before something happens."

The trio moved to speak to Attica's leader, but a soldier put his spear forward. After a quick exchange between Herodotus and Perikles, the heart of the conversation was met.

"I am Kassandra and this is Jake. We've come to talk to you about the—"

Herodotus cut in. "We must choose our moment wisely and speak our words more privately."

"Yeah, we're here for information on the Cult of Kosmos," Jake said blandly, inspecting his nails. "Bunch of men and women in high places looking to overthrow governments and establish their own rule. Ever heard of them?"

Herodotus looked like to have been slapped across the face with a fish. Kassandra's eyes were wide. Perikles' mouth was open in a perfect "O." Off to the side, Kleon was interested in the conversation.

"Hello~?" Jake snapped his fingers. "Anyone in there?"

Perikles blinked and shook his head. "Yes, yes. I've heard of the Cult. A bunch of hooligans with dreams of grandeur."

"Yeah, them. What'ch you got?"

"Nothing," Pericles said. "With the war against Sparta raging, I don't have time for rumors."

Jake hummed. "Well, the rumors have time for you. Now, Kassandra thinks you might have information regarding a Spartan woman, her mother?"

Herodotus cut back in, face pale and voice strained. "Ah, perhaps this conversation would be better hosted at the symposium, hm? Many prying ears, you see."

"Seeing and ears don't go together," Jake said flatly.

Herodotus frowned.

"Yes, the symposium," Pericles said. "I can get you in, but I cannot promise any worthwhile information."

"How do we get in?" Kassandra asked.

Jake cocked a brow at her saying "we."

Pericles began to give a list of tasks. Go check on his colleague, Metiochos; escort the sculptor Phidias out of Athens; and an ostracism, or exile. Kassandra nodded.

"We'll get to it."

" _You'll_ get to it," Jake said. "There's something I want to take care of. Find me after you're done."

"How will I find you?" the _misthios_ asked.

"Use your eagle's vision."

With that, Jake went on his way, blending into the crowd.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kleon, Sage of the Delian League of the Cult of Kosmos, was hurrying to his private quarters up by the Parthenon. He needed to get correspondence out to his subordinates, warning them of the presence of Kassandra the eagle-bearer, and a new player in the game, Jake of the West Indies…wherever the Hades that was.

Kleon reached his residence, pulled the curtain closed behind him, and went for his desk upon which scrolls and ink jars and feathers lay waiting. He sat down and before he began to write, he slowly turned his towards the window, where someone was casually sitting, flipping a pyramid fragment about his fingers.

"Hey," Jake of the West Indies greeted curtly.

Kleon stared in shock, before he regained his sense and to draw his sword. A loud click made him stop. Looking up, he saw one of those strange devices being pointed at him.

"Funny. You don't even know what this is or what it does, and yet you inherently feel threatened by it, almost like you know you're fucked."

Kleon swallowed, and tried the tactic of the mouth. "Do you know who I am?"

"Kleon the Everyman. Member of the Cult of Kosmos."

The Sage turned as white as his beard. "H-How do you know that?"

"Eagle Vision."

Kleon's brow furrowed. "What?"

"The short version is that it's a gift from the gods that grants me the insight of Athena herself. It lets me find who I'm looking for, and when I was looking for Cultists, I found you."

"What do you want?" Kleon asked, keeping his voice steady. "If it's money you desire—"

The smirk on Jake's lips and the way his eyes gleamed made Kleon gulp. "Why do you people always think money is the question? Do you ever stop and think that maybe, just maybe, there's more to life than gold?"

Kleon's eyes darted in that way your eyes do when you don't have an answer.

"No, old man, what I want is information regarding an object you or your fellows might know about. It's an orb, a little bit bigger than an apple, usually bronze, and covered in strange markings, like this triangle. Ring any bells in that head of yours?"

"…I don't have any bells in my head," Kleon said hesitantly.

The phrase was lost to the Everyman.

Jake sighed. "Look, you know anything like I described, or not?"

Kleon felt most strongly that his life depended on his answer, and therein lied the problem. He didn't have any knowledge of anything like Jake described. An orb bigger than an apple, covered in markings like the pyramid fragments? Not a clue. However…

"I don't know of anything exactly like you seek, but…" a bead of sweat trailed down Kleon's face, "…there's rumors, powerful beasts guarding treasures. Perhaps…perhaps in those troves, is what you seek…?"

Jake jerked his head left, and then right, popping his neck. "I suppose that's a good enough start. Where would these powerful beasts be, exactly?"

Kleon was now thankful for the ridiculous reports he was forced to read as demanded by his job.

"To the west is an island off the coast of Boeotia, called the Isle of Thisvi. Strange stone and strange sounds, like an angry god. To the southeast, in Messara, the ruins of Knossos Palace. Statues of the Minotaur guard a sealed entrance in the ground. The Island of Lesbos to the northeast. In the Petrified Forest, a creature they call the Writhing Dread lives in an area of fog."

"Is that all, or is there more?"

"That's all I know. I swear to Zeus."

"Well, I hope you're being truthful," Jake grinned.

Kleon gulped. "W-Why do you say that?"

"Cause I'm going to alter history."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Essays suck. Especially when you have to write seven pages of an essay, and then you get told by the professor that only half the essay is good, and so you go back and rewrite half the essay because your parents instilled in you a godlike work ethic. However, the essay is done. I'm not redoing any more of it, and I'm finally done with the first semester of my freshman year of college.**_

 _ **Now it is on to Chemistry and Calculus come January 22, 2019.**_

 _ **Anyway, if anyone has any info on the Olorous Fortress completion glitch, please share.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review please!**_


	40. The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt 3

_The Third Life: Jake's Odyssey: Pt. 3_

 _ **This story has hit quadruple digits in all categories, making it my overall most popular.**_

 **Backup Plan** _ **is still my favorite, though. Speaking of, I am feeling a little bit of fatigue with this fic. Undertaking**_ **Black Flag** _ **, leading into**_ **ACIII** _ **, while also dabbling in**_ **Odyssey** _ **was more than I thought it would be.**_

 _ **Anyway, I'm out of college now with a 4.0, and don't go back till the 22 of January 2019.**_

 _ **Hopefully, that means more updates.**_

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own PJO or AC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Athens_

 _Night_

Kassandra finished her tasks, and remembered Jake's words: _Find me when you're done. Use your eagle's vision._

"Well, Ikaros," the _misthios_ said to herself, "let's see if we can find Jake of the West Indies."

The eagle screeched and took flight, gaining altitude by the second. Ikaros soared high above the city and started hovering, his eyes seeing things no two-legged stink-sack would ever see. With five times better vision than a human, the second fovea in his ocular structure, his eyesight was second only to the likes of Asteria. As such, and his innate nature of finding whatever the Hades it was that he was looking for, Ikaros located the strange two-legs that his master wanted.

The eagle shot back down to Kassandra, and screeched. He wasn't entirely sure himself how their bond worked, but it worked, and he got his neck stroked for his troubles.

"Thank you, Ikaros," Kassandra smiled.

 _SCREE_

The eagle took flight once more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jake was midway to the symposium, whistling "Running Down to Cuba," attracting many strange looks as the tune was unfamiliar to all that heard it. He doubted the body would be found any time soon, especially because he hid it, but he was certain that the body would eventually be found. It couldn't be helped, really, and there was nothing that could link him to the deed, anyway.

Perhaps with technological advancements in the 21st century, but not in the 4th century BCE.

Besides, even if they did link him to the murder, they'd have to come after him and subsequently subdue him, something that a small fleet of pirate hunters couldn't do, even with two man-o'-wars, three frigates, five brigs, and ten gunboats—the _Running Frenchman_ was a **bad** son of a bitch—and even if they did subdue him, they'd have to haul him all the way back to Athens, keep in prisoner for trial, keep him under lock and key during the trial, and then make sure the execution or whatever sentence it may be was carried out without a hitch.

Not an easy task when one was supremely capable and competent, and had an entire devoted crew that was also capable and competent.

In short, Jake had no worries about murdering Kleon the Everyman.

His real concerns were about the leads he had gathered from Kleon the Everyman.

The Writhing Dread on the Island of Lesbos, a place with minotaur statues in Messara, and an island off the coast of Boeotia with loud sounds coming from it. The first place sounded like Medusa, or gorgons, or any snake-related thing from Greek mythology, and the second was clearly the Minotaur, and the third could literally be anything. Lots of things made loud sounds. There was also the object of distance, and location. Jake had not a clue as to where any of these places were, and so would need a map.

There was also his developing relationship was Kassandra.

She was a good woman, strong, smart, capable, a good head on her shoulders, a better eagle also on her shoulders, and she knew how to fight and how to navigate society. She had a good heart, going out of her way to help random people, for a price, of course, but still helping out, and she was devoted to eradicating a threat to the Greek world, this Cult of Kosmos.

Obviously a Templar precursor, if the ideals and artifacts were anything to go by, which made Jake wonder if that meant he and Kassandra were then precursor Assassins, as they had killed the precursor Templars.

That thought caused Jake to come to a complete halt in the middle of the street, whistle dying immediately. Suddenly, the massive ramifications of his actions in the past and what they could do to the future—his present—were brought to the forefront of his mind, and his thoughts became a whirlwind.

What if the future was the way it was because Jake had stayed his hand in most conflicts?

What if the future was the way it was because he had directly interfered with everything that he could?

What if by killing the Cult he set things in motion for the Templars and the Assassins to exist?

What if by killing Kassandra, he put an end to the Assassins?

Did any of this actually matter? Would the two sides still be born regardless of who died and who lived?

Would the future be any different based on what actions he took, and what actions he didn't take?

Or was the future already created, and would sort itself out on its own?

So many more questions floated through Jake's head at the speed of a cannon ball, and the possibilities brought forth with each possible answer made him experience vertigo. He almost fell where he stood, but he was caught from behind and saved from the public embarrassment.

"Jake!" Kassandra asked, concerned. "Jake, are you alright?"

"Oh good," the pirate muttered, "a distraction." He stood upright and dusted off his chest plate. "I am perfectly fine. A memory just went through my head about this time I watched a man get fucked in the ass by a goat walking on two legs. Very disturbing stuff."

Kassandra blinked. "Very disturbing indeed. Did this goat at least use olive oil?"

"No."

Jake wondered what the hell olive oil had to do with anything, but refrained from asking.

"So, Perikles' symposium, yes?"

"Yes," the mercenary nodded.

Not convinced at all with Jake's story about the two-legged goat, Kassandra lead the way to the symposium.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When they got there, there was this person.

"Phoibe!" Kassandra exclaimed.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Kassandra! It's you!" Then she blinked. "Who's this guy?"

"This is Jake of the West Indies."

"The where?"

"Unimportant," the pirate said. "What is important is getting inside of this symposium thingy, and talking to Perikles about adult stuff. So, shoo."

Phoibe frowned at being treated as if she was nothing by the teen, and she looked to Kassandra for support.

The mercenary found herself at a crossroads, with two clear options before her:

[Side with Jake]

[Side with Phoibe]

Considering the nature of this event against the surprise reunion with her little friend, Kassandra broke for a middle ground.

"Jake's right, Phoibe. We have important things we need to take care of. After we're done though, you and I can catch up."

Phoibe brightened. "Okay!" she chirped, "but if you both are going inside, you need to change clothes, and leave your weapons."

The response was immediate and in perfect synch.

"Are you out of your little mind? No!"

An awkward silence broke out, with Kassandra and Jake sharing a look, and Phoibe's eyes darting between the two.

"Are you two…together?" she asked with a hint of suggestion.

"No," Kassandra said instantly. "I mean—yes, we're together, but not _that_ kind of together. We're together—as in we're here, together, as in we're both here, side by side—but not like-"

Jake hit the back of her helmet. "Shut up before your mouth falls off." He turned to Phoibe. "Kassandra will be disrobing and giving up her weapons. I will not, and that is final." He turned to the mercenrary. "See you inside."

Jake vanished around the corner and out of sight.

"I think you made him mad," Phoibe said.

"No," Kassandra said distantly. "There's something on his mind that he won't tell me."

"Have you two…you know…" Phoibe made a hole with her pointer and thumb, and began moving her other finger in and out of that hole.

It was a testament to how comfortable Kassandra was with the topic of sex, because she did not blush or become embarrassed at the question, only shook her head. "Not yet," she said.

"Well you better hurry," Phoibe grinned. "I'm going to go after that myself."

Kassandra whacked the girl very hard upside the head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jake was approached by Herodotus in the shadows of an overhang.

"Ah, Jake. You made it."

"Ah, Herodotus. I see you made it too."

The man shifted. "You are still bearing weapons and armor. This may make things more difficult."

"Hardly," Jake waved aside the concerns. "I don't know these people and they don't know me. In all honesty, this is going to be the only night we ever have contact, so making a lasting impression is pointless. Truth be told, I don't even know why I'm here. There's some other things I need to be doing."

"I see. Well, try not to make a scene, then. We don't need the guard performing any arrests with tensions in Athens so high."

"I'll do my best to play nice."

Herodotus nodded. He made to walk away, but he stopped as a thought struck him. "You seem like an educated man, Jake. How do you fair in the arena of philosophy?"

Jake had flashbacks to his conversations with Edward, Adéwalé, and Mary regarding the Assassins, Templars, and the intricate relationship between them. "Quite well, I think."

"I see. You see that man over there? That is Sokrates. He's-"

"I know damn well who he is. Herodotus, you have a wonderful evening."

As Jake walked off to engage in conversation with one of the most intellectual men in all of recorded history, Herodotus Was left grumbling.

"That is _not_ how you pronounce my name."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jake interrupted the debate between Sokrates and whoever the hell this other guy was, just as it looked like a fist was about to fly.

"Greetings, gentlemen. I heard Sokrates was here, and I couldn't help but get some insight into his mind."

"And you are?" the guy that was not Sokrates asked, turning his nose up.

"The one with the swords and the knowledge of how to use them. Now scamper away and get drunk, before you embarrass yourself."

The guy humphed and left.

"Jake of the West Indies," the pirate introduced, hand outstretched.

The philosopher reached out and grasped the offered hand. "Sokrates. You wanted insight into my mind, yet you come from a land I've never heard of."

"There are lots of lands you've never heard of, and lots I haven't, either. However, even in the West Indies, the great philosopher Sokrates is a known name."

"How known?"

"Known enough that mentioning you is enough to start arguments that end with someone getting killed."

"Ah. Is it not interesting how people are so willing to kill others in their belief of what is and what is not right?"

"That is the essence of conflict," Jake answered. "Two or more parties willing to fight to the death for the right to claim correctness and validity."

"Then what of the conflict between a group of bandits on the side of the road attacking a passing troop of nobles?" Sokrates asked curiously.

"A different kind of conflict. Real conflict is of heated emotion and passion. A bandit attack is a bunch of people satisfying their personal interests."

"I see. Does that make the bandits more noble than the nobles, as where the nobles often engage in conversations of lies and boasts, and mince their words and check their language so as to keep up the image of dignity, all of them effective liars and deceivers, as opposed to a bandit who is true to himself in that he commits acts of violence against others for no higher purpose than drachmae and love of carnage?"

"Now that is a question that is answered based on perspective," Jake said. "One could argue that yes, a bandit is truly more noble because a bandit is simple, clear, to the point, and won't lie to you. A bandit operates on base motivation. On the other hand, one could just as easily argue that a noble is purer, because of blood, wealth, social status, deeds that have been performed, etcetera. It's all a matter of perspective, really."

"I see," Sokrates said. Truthfully, the man in the blue toga was impressed to meet a mind that could keep up with his own. "Then, as it's a matter of perspective, does that not mean that all matters and people, regardless of their good deeds and bad, are evil or just based on perspective?"

"Of course," Jake said. "Look at this war, for example. How many Spartan children curse Athenian names because it was Athenian soldiers that killed their fathers, brothers, and sons? How many Athenian children curse Spartan names for the same reason? So really, if the Spartans see the Athenians as evil for their deeds, and the Athenians see the Spartans as evil for their deeds, does that not mean that both sides are evil?"

"And does that not mean that both sides are heroes?" Sokrates asked. "If the children on the opposite side view the others as evil, then the children on the same side view theirs as heroes, no?"

"Agreed," Jake said. "War is an ugly thing, destroying families on all sides."

Sokrates nodded, eyes downcast and sullen at the reality of the world. But the philosopher perked up quickly. "Perhaps you can answer another question: would you agree that the act of ruling is an art?"

Jake hummed and tilted his head upward, the feather in his hat swaying.

"Is the act of ruling an art…well, that depends on you define _art_. If art is defined as the expression of one's inner feelings regarding anything, then no, ruling is not an art, for if a ruler rules by expressing their inner feelings, they are not truly ruling, as a real ruler sacrifices their feelings on a matter for the betterment of the people they rule, lest they find themselves in deep shit if they piss off the masses.

"If you define art as something intellectual, as a physical example of ability and prowess, then all things become art. A carpenter's creations are art, a painter's creations are art, a doctor's techniques and practices are art, soldier's ability with the sword and shield are art, an archer with the bow is an artist, a captain of a ship expresses art in commanding his sailors, and a ruler with their tongue and decrees is an artist."

"It's a matter of perspective, then?" Sokrates asked with a grin.

"All things are," Jake said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kassandra talking with a woman, and his breath hitched in his throat at how absolutely _stunning_ the mercenary was in that dress. Sokrates followed Jake's gaze.

"Ah. That is Aspasia. The woman speaking with her is a mercenary I met earlier this evening."

"Kassandra is her name…" Jake said distantly.

"I see you fancy her," Sokrates said with a tease in his voice.

Jake looked at him. "She's pretty, but not my type. Besides, I have commitments elsewhere, and a relationship between her and I would fuck a lot of things up."

Sokrates hummed. "I often say life's one true happiness is knowing yourself, but sometimes I wonder if knowing oneself brings happiness. I have enjoyed this conversation, Jake of the West Indies. I bid thee a good evening, and greater luck."

"Thanks."

Sokrates made his way over to join another circle of conversation, and Jake was left alone, staring at Kassandra. He sighed to himself.

Oh, sure, the _misthios_ was a beautiful specimen, only a fool would deny that. Her looks alone were enough to garner the interest and attention of any sane man, and if you could handle her personality and job—which Jake could, since his spiritual big sister was James Kidd, ten times the devil his father, William Kidd, ever was—then you had a match to yourself made by God. The problem was that Jake belonged to the 18th century, with responsibilities and duties to the people of Nassau and the Pirate Confederacy, and Kassandra belonged to the 4th century BCE, as a _misthios_ with no higher obligation than money, who had decided to take on a shadow organization for the betterment of the world at large.

However, like his conversation with Sokrates had pointed out, what was good and evil was determined by perspective, so who could really say if the Cult of Kosmos was really evil, since, after all, their end goal was an end to the Peloponnesian War and peace throughout Greece.

But like Al Mualim had said long ago…far into the future, regarding the Templars: "I do not despise their goal, I share it. I take issue with the _means_."

The subjugation of mankind, and the restriction of free will.

Granted, The Cult appeared to not have any knowledge regarding Pieces of Eden beyond those triangles, and Jake was kicking himself for not asking further about those triangles during his conversation with Kleon.

Hindsight was 20/20, after all.

So, in essence, the Cult of Kosmos was just your average, stereotypical, controls from the shadows, people in high and low places, evil organization. When Jake thought of them like that, suddenly the gravity of the Cult lessened to almost nonexistence, and they became something more of a nuisance.

Speaking of the Cult…

"Are there any members here…?" Jake muttered.

Eagle Vision activated, and only one person in the whole of the congregation glowed bright gold.

Jake shut off his sixth sense. "Well, that's just unfortunate. And Kassandra seems to be making friends with her."

The pirate approached the two women, and he was figuring out whether to crash the party or play it cool.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kassandra felt a level of gratitude she hadn't felt since Markos, not that she would ever tell the man she was grateful to him for anything given his nature of lording things over people in exchange for favors and services.

Aspasia had proven to be a trove of knowledge and helpfulness, confirming Kassandra's investigation into the whereabouts of her mother, Myrrine, by confirming Hippokrates in Argos and Alkibiades' information regarding a woman in Korinth named Anthousa. Not only that, but Aspasia had offered her own lead, a woman named Xenia in Keos.

"When you're done, return here," Aspasia said. "Together, we'll find who you're looking for. Now do me a favor and get Perikles to come down here and greet his quests."

"Oh, why not let the man alone," a voice cut in.

Both women turned to the speaker, and Kassandra's face lit up. "Ah, Jake! Aspasia, this is my friend, Jake of the West Indies."

Aspasia nodded. "I have heard of the strange young man roaming the streets of Athens. Pleased to meet you, Jake of the West Indies."

"I'd say the same, but I don't know you."

"Jake," Kassandra said, "this is Aspasia."

Silence hung in the air between the three of them.

"…and?" Jake prompted. "You say that like it's supposed to make mud into water." Kassandra opened her mouth to elaborate, but Jake cut her off. "Actually, how about you go and get Perikles, and Aspasia can introduce herself."

The _misthios_ looked like she had been slapped with someone's intestinal tract, and considering the nature of the _misthios_ , her being struck in such a manner was grounds for a lethal retaliation. Yeah, Kassandra didn't look happy about being shooed away, and there seemed to be an underlying feeling as well.

Jake couldn't tell if it was jealousy or hurt, but it twisted his insides at being looked upon like that.

"Kassandra," Aspasia said lightly. The _misthios_ looked at her, and the Athenian woman made a movement with her head. Kassandra gave Jake one last withering look, and left.

"That was not a very nice-"

"Shut the fuck up before I run you through like I did the Hydra," Jake said seriously, not a hint of humor anywhere.

Aspasia visibly gulped.

"I know who you are, Ghost of Kosmos. I know you lead the Cult, and have managed to get a lot of people in a lot of influential places, effectively controlling the war and manipulating it to your end. What I don't know is your motives and I don't care, so don't bother telling me. I also don't know what you're trying to do with Kassandra.

"Either you're trying to get into her head, laying the groundwork for convincing her to join the Cult along with her brother Deimos, leading up to the big reveal and hoping you've got enough standing with her that she won't immediately remove your head, or you're trying to lead her into a trap that'll result either in her capture and subsequent brainwashing or death, or you're just trying to get your hands into her pants…under her skirt. You Greeks are weird like that. Whatever the fuck you're trying to do, if it's going to hurt Kassandra, I will personally come after you, and _keelhaul_ you."

Aspasia did not know what keelhauling was, but the severity by which Jake said it belayed a terrible fate.

For those that don't know what keelhauling is, it's the practice of tying someone up and dragging them under a boat, and in the time that it was used, the bottoms of ships were covered in very sharp, very unforgiving creatures called barnacles. So, if you didn't drown, you were sliced to ribbons.

"Personally, I've never keelhauled someone before, and I've never seen it done, but…" Jake trailed off. The pirate's eyes gleamed maniacally, and he began chuckling in a way that had Aspasia's skin crawling.

As the Ghost of Kosmos slowly walked away, Jake's laughter seemed to echo throughout all of Athens.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After the symposium more or less ended, at least for Kassandra's worries, the _misthios_ made her quiet exit back in full regalia. She found Jake waiting outside in a private setting, and immediately she scowled, still very displeased at being dismissed like a common servant. She stormed over to the pirate, intent on letting him know her mind, but the air around him took the wind from her sails.

He seemed melancholy, and it was hard to be mad at someone when they were vulnerable in such a way.

Still, the fires might have been cooled, but they were not extinguished.

"What are you on about?" Kassandra asked, an edge to her tone.

Jake exhaled and looked at her. "I'm sorry for what I did to you."

"Oh, so just because you're sorry for something that means forgiveness is yours?"

Jake looked back to the horizon. "You misunderstand what I'm sorry for. Stay away from Aspasia. Getting closer to her is going to hurt down the line."

Kassandra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you're probably going to kill her."

"Why? Because she's an Athenian politician and someone will put a reward out for her head?"

Instead of sounding heated, Kassandra actually was curious as to whether someone would do that.

"Well, that is a possibility," Jake conceded, "but not what I'm hinting at. Think about this: other than for a sack of coins, why would you deliberately kill someone, given your profession?"

Kassandra thought about all the reasons she would kill someone for a cause beyond drachmae. "If they're a mercenary trying to kill me, a soldier of Athens or Sparta on the battlefield, a soldier of either if I get spotted in any of their camps or forts and a skirmish breaks out, bandits attacking me, Followers of Ares, the Daughters of Artemis don't like it when I'm in their camps, uh…"

Kassandra looked up in thought, and therefore missed the flabbergasted look on Jake's face.

"Oh! And if they're members of the Cult of Kosmos," the _misthios_ finished proudly.

"And of all the above, which ones do Aspasia clearly not fall under?"

Kassandra thought about it. The politician obviously wasn't a soldier, nor was she a bandit or a mercenary, and she seemingly lacked the bloodthirstiness of a Follower of Ares and the desire for wilderness that was found in the Daughters of Artemis…all of that checked off the majority of the list, leaving only one option, but there was just no way.

"Are you saying Aspasia is a member of the Cult?"

"If I said yes, would you believe me?"

"I would demand proof!" Kassandra said loudly.

Aspasia had a way with words, and her way had gotten into the eagle-bearer's head. The woman's standing with Phoibe also earned her several large brownie points, along with additional brownie points for being so helpful and friendly in the search for Myrrine.

Jake snorted. "In our line of work, we don't need _proof_ , but hey," the pirate shrugged, "believe me, don't believe me, it really doesn't matter in the long run. What does matter is what we do now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have leads you need to follow in regards to your mother, and I have leads to follow in regards to finding what I'm looking for."

Kassandra raised a brow. "The thing you're looking for as in the thing you're looking for that the Cult might have knowledge about?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and I guess you interrogated Aspasia and she gave you these leads, yes?"

"No. Kleon."

"Oh, Kle—wait, _Kleon_ is a Cultist?"

"Was a Cultist. Like I told you, organizations like the one we're dealing with want people in high places."

Kassandra blinked. "Was?"

"What else could that possibly mean, Kassandra?"

"…you killed Kleon, one of the most prolific men in all of Athens…without anyone knowing about it…"

"I have skills," Jake boasted.

Kassandra bobbed her head from side to side in that "Yeah, you do and I can't really argue that" kind of way. "So, Kleon was a Cultist, and he gave you information about what you're seeking."

"Mm-hm, and you got information on what you're seeking."

"Well, where do you need to go?" Kassandra asked.

She didn't sound too happy about them going separate ways.

"The Isle of Thisvi, off the coast of Boeotia-"

"I've been there!" Kassandra said. "Strange stone, a loud grunt coming from the other side. I can take you."

Jake gave her a sideways glance. "Thanks. There's also something going on in Lesbos and Messara."

"There are Cultists in both places. We can go there together, and help each other out."

"And I suppose this is before or after you go looking for your mother?"

Kassandra waivered, and then a question popped into her head. "Why are you in such a hurry to find whatever it is you're looking for?"

"Because, I-"

Jake stopped.

Why _was_ he in such a hurry? Was time in even moving parallel? Was a day here a day in the future? If he spent a year here in the past, and then went back to the future, would he arrive a year ahead of when he left? Hell, if he did go back to the future, would he even be back during the 1700s, or would he get dropped off somewhere further, or somewhere before?

All this time, Jake was in the firm mind that time was moving as fast then as it was now. A day that passed here was a day that passed in the future, and finding an Apple and getting it to work would drop him back off at the same place he and his crew vanished, just however long it was that they had spent in the past, forward.

However, if none of that was the case, as this was 430 BCE, meaning the events of the 1700s were very far away, then all of that time was frozen as it hadn't happened yet, and there were no worries about popping back up in the future to find so much time had passed.

Still, there was the concern of an Apple _not_ putting Jake back in 1716, and what of the crew? Some of them had families in the West Indies, some had families back in England and Spain that they wanted to see again, and bring money too. How selfish would it be of Jake to _not_ hurry and accommodate the homesickness of his crew, to completely screw them over and make them wait indefinitely until he decided he was done gallivanting through Greece?

"Because, Kassandra, I have a duty to my crew. A duty to make sure their needs are met at all times, and their wants are catered to within reason. Finding what I'm looking for as soon as I can is the responsible thing to do."

"I…I see…" Kassandra said.

On the inside, she was impressed, her respect for Jake climbing at the declaration of his devotion to his crew. Also on the inside, she was hurting just a little.

"Is this goodbye, then?"

"Not forever," Jake said, though even as he said it, he wasn't sure if that was the truth. "It's a small world, and we're clearly going to be travelling a lot. We're bound to cross paths again."

Silence fell between them.

"Why does this hurt?" Kassandra asked. "We've spent less than a day together and I feel like I've known you all my life."

Jake felt the same. Kassandra reminded him so much of Mary that it made his heart twist, which was really bad because Mary was his big sister.

The pirate looked down when the nerves in his hand fired, and he saw Kassandra slipping her hand into his. "This feels too fast," he said.

The _misthios_ gave a sideways grin. "I've gone faster, but I can go slower if you like."

Jake's heart started hammering against his chest, the mounting prospect of what was before him bringing out anticipation and nervousness. "Is this really…are we really…are you seriously…do you really…"

Kassandra kissed him full on the mouth, and broke away after a few moments. "Something to remember me by if we never meet again."

She kissed him again, and Jake kissed back.

That night, as the moon became hidden behind dark clouds, the reincarnation of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad and Vergil Cavaliere took his place among men.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _ **Yes, they had sex. Was it rushed? Maybe, but how fast were all the other romance options? Like, you meet someone, a few flirtatious lines—sometimes just one—and boom. In their pants.**_

 _ **Or up their skirt.**_

 _ **Anyway, does anyone know anything about the Olouros Fortress thing not completing? Anyone?**_

 _ **Jake will be doing the Pythagoras questline, obviously, so more combat, and more epic battles ahead. I'm going to have fun with this.**_

 _ **Fav, Follow, and Review!**_


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